


Earth Angel

by sarahtoninsmile



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Based on a Tumblr Post, Guardian Angel AU, Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human!Crowley, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, This is mostly funny i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22934722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahtoninsmile/pseuds/sarahtoninsmile
Summary: based on a tumblr post by @rainydaydecaf: https://rainydaydecaf.tumblr.com/post/190812341074/so-ive-seen-a-few-aus-where-aziraphale-is-a-human'I’ve got this idea for an AU where Crowley is a human, perhaps a very rich and successful human, who nevertheless feels like his life is empty and meaningless. And on top of that, he just got a diagnosis of cancer and only has two to five years to live, so he’s dealing with that on top of everything else.Enter Aziraphale, an angel who’s been sent down to Earth to save Crowley’s soul before his demise'
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

Let it be known throughout the 9 circles of Heaven, Hell, and the Earth, that when the Archangel Gabriel called you to his office, it was certainly not good. Well...it was good in that angels were to do no Bad, so by sheer technically it was obviously Good, but this did little to settle Aziraphale. He had been resorting the already pristine heavenly libraries when he was suddenly summoned. It was very fortunate that he was in fact an angel and thus naturally inclined to the virtue of patience, or by goodness he might have been considered _annoyed_ by the intrusion.

Still, there had been a good reason for Aziraphale to spend his eternal days hiding about in the library tomes, and not in his own heavenly office with the other angels. Despite outranking Gabriel, the archangel had a habit of making the principality feel only centimeters tall, to turn a phrase. Now, Aziraphale wasn't quite sure, but he was starting to think this wasn't normal angelic supervisor behavior. At least, maybe it shouldn't be. He didn't know whether this thought was allowed or not so he kept it close to himself.

Aziraphale straightened his cream colored bow-tie and magnolia waistcoat, “Best get this over with...” he muttered to himself.

He worked up a neutral pleasant smile and knocked.

“Enter.”

The blindingly white door vanished in a blink. Aziraphale stepped in. Large floor length windows showing a vivid blue sky with massive puffy clouds overlooked an equally blindingly white desk. At the desk, Gabriel had his head bowed, writing something before swiftly moving the papers to one of the neat stacks on the desk.

Several moments passed. Aziraphale shifted from foot to foot. He wondered if he should cough to mark his presence, when the archangel finally lifted his head and regaled the Principality with a matching blindingly white smile. As usual the gesture didn't quite make it to his violet eyes.

“Ah, there you are, Aziraphale. Just the angel I wanted to see!”

Aziraphale gave a weak grin, humming.

Gabriel gave one of the stacks of paperwork a satisfied hard pat, before quickly striding around his desk toward the other angel.

“Working hard, or hardly working these days?” Gabriel clapped a hand a little too hard on his shoulder.

Aziraphale thought longingly to the stack of first edition Wilde's waiting for him back in the library (smuggled there many years ago by a certain unnamed angel), begging to be read and dusted. “Well as a matter of fact-”

“Excellent, I have just the busy work for you then,” Gabriel said, “Spread your wings and all that. You like being on Earth, right?”

Aziraphale's interest which had begun to fade into a distant dull drone upon entering Gabriel's office immediately piqued, “E-earth? Why yes, as a matter of fact. I've been hoping for the chance to return for quite a while now.”

Gabriel's smile brightened a few watts, “Perfect! I have a task for you then. Straight from the Almighty herself. Very important as you can imagine, and imperative that it gets done.”

He pulled the first folder from the top of one of the many stacks on his desk seemingly at random and handed the manila folder to Aziraphale.

When Aziraphale opened it, he was confronted with a printed profile. A profile of a human.

“Anthony J. Crowley. Age 46. District manager of a large telemarketing business in London. He just found out last week that he has leukemia, and has 2 to 3 years to live.”

“Oh my, the poor dear,” Aziraphale frowned, sadly scanning the picture paper-clipped to the corner. A rather grumpy looking human with red red hair and dark designer sunglasses glared back at him, as if sensing Aziraphale feeling any sort of pity for him and was Not Happy about it.

“Yes yes, very sad,” Gabriel plucked the file back, snapping it closed and tucking it under his arm, “Problem is, he is drastically lacking in, well, _any_ positive qualities, quite frankly. Not nearly enough to meet his quota. At this rate, he will be sent to Hell when he does die in a couple years time. The Almighty has seen fit to request he be given a Guardian to offer him the chance of redemption.” Gabriel looked to the angel pointedly.

Aziraphale's blonde head snapped up, blinking rapidly, “Guar-guardian? Me? I mean...”

Gabriel raised one eyebrow, “Something wrong?”

“It's just...Principalities are not typically guardians of individual humans. Just groups, mostly you know. I've never been a Guardian Angel before...”

“Oh please, you were Guardian of the Eastern Gate back in the day, weren't you? Surely there's not much difference guarding a single human. You won't mind,” Gabriel waved him off, taking a seat back at his desk. “Besides, we're short staffed at the moment, not enough Angels to spare. All the more reason to get more souls into Heaven! Besides, She requested it, you won't be saying no to that, will you?”

Aziraphale tugged at his pale coat cuffs behind his back while he shot a nervous glace through the ceiling. “No, I...I suppose not,” he murmured.

“Wonderful!”

“This human...”Aziraphale worried his lip, “He must be rather important for his own Guardian Angel? Important... to the Plan, by chance?”

Gabriel scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Uh, of course. Why would the Almighty have asked otherwise? Honestly, Aziraphale.”

The corner of Aziraphale's mouth twitched at the non-answer. His eyes fell to his shuffling feet as he said quietly, “Right...silly me.”

Gabriel had scribbled his signature with a flick and whisked the file away with barely a second thought. And just like that he was already bent over his pile of papers again, “Glad we have that sorted. Report to Earth as soon as you can, miserable human doesn't have a lot of time left does he?”

“Of course.”

Aziraphale turned, as if in a daze. Gabriel always did manage to make him feel like he had been hit by a storm with just a simple conversation.

How fortunate he would be returning to Earth soon, he could do with a stiff cup of tea.

“And Aziraphale?”

The angel blinked behind him.

“Close the door on your way out.”

The bright door closed swiftly in Aziraphale's face.

…


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah, what was that name again, sir?”

“Just Aziraphale, my dear,” the angel smiled serenely to the secretary. His beige coat and pale curly locks made him stand out starkly in the dark wood decor of the corporate office. It didn't bother him too much however, even with the inverse color palette it reminded him enough of a certain archangel's office that he felt right in his place.

The secretary's acrylic nails clicked loudly on her keyboard as she frowned at her computer screen, “I'm afraid I don't see any appointments this afternoon, or any day even, for a Mr. Aziraphale.”

“Oh, would you mind looking one more time? I'm quite positive I have an appointment with Mr. Crowley today. It's very urgent.” Aziraphale shot a sideways stern look at the machine.

“I don't see-Oh!” She blinked hard behind her horn-rimmed glasses as words she swore were not there a second ago were suddenly there plain as day, “Of course, there you are. I'm sorry, I'm not sure how I missed that.”

“No harm done. Don't worry about it at all,” he rocked on his feet, chipper and the picture of innocence.

“Mr. Crowley is in a meeting right now, but he'll be able to see you right after.”

Aziraphale beamed, “Lovely!”

He didn't have to wait long. Not a couple minutes later, a terrified looking young man skittered out of the important looking door at the very end of the hallway. He had a glassy haunted look in his eyes, like a man walking the gallows, as if he had just been made to watch his very hopes and dreams ground to dust before his eyes and then set on fire. He didn't look at either Aziraphale or the secretary, just floated on autopilot toward the elevator. As he got near the exit, his feet suddenly broke into a run. He couldn't seem to get away fast enough from the office. Aziraphale could still hear him whimpering even as the elevator finally lowered him mercifully away.

The angel gulped, “ _Oh my_...”

It was more dire than he thought.

Well, he was not sent to Earth for pleasure, he reminded himself (although there would indeed be plenty of pleasure. Foods to eat. New books to finally read.). He was here to work, to save a man's life! The fate of his soul rested in his hands!

He could feel a swell in his chest at the thought. Any kerfuffle he had with Gabriel be damned, he was literally born to guard. With a small nod to himself of determination, Aziraphale braved the long walk down the dark corridor to the main office at the very end. He opened the dark wood door without knocking, hand brushing against the shiny cold name plaque there.

He was met with a dim minimalist office. It held no personal touches aside from a couple small potted plants on the bookshelves. The was no art. Large bookcases filled with files lined either side of the room. Directly across from the door, curtains blocked most of the light from the large windows. And there in the middle of it, was a large solid ornate desk. And almost camouflaged into said desk on account of his full black suit, was a human. _His_ human. He could tell right away, feel their connection in his very essence (also only Real Pieces Of Work (tm) would wear sunglasses indoors, so it felt like a safe bet).

The human had his snake-skin boot clad feet propped up on his desk, and he was idly reading a car magazine. He hadn't seemed to notice that an angel of the Lord had just entered his office yet.

Aziraphale hesitated, he hadn't actually gotten to plan a script for this meeting, he had just been so focused on getting out of Heaven as quickly as he could. This oversight felt glaring now that he was confronted by his new charge. All his confidence he had in the hallway died on his tongue. As the seconds ticked by, he began to empathize greatly with the skittish young man that just ran from this very office.

He tried opening his mouth a couple times, but nothing seemed right. Eventually he settled on loosening his tartan bow-tie (which had been conjured as soon as it was physically possible to be rid of the plain white) and softly closed the door behind him. He cleared his throat.

“ _Anthony J. Crowley_?” the Angel of the Eastern Gate asked (squaring his shoulders for good measure).

“Yeah, wot?” Crowley folded down a corner of his magazine to look over. His eyes were indistinguishable behind his large dark shades, but his eyebrows crinkled spectacularly. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Emboldened, Aziraphale stepped towards the desk, “ _Be not afraid. For behold I bring you good tidings and an opportunity to_ -”

“Oh good grief, if you're going to slap me with whatever oh-so-wonderful business opportunity or whatever shite it is you're peddling, at least do it in an email. At least then I can ignore you properly in my own time, and free up even more time to ignore other people in person. Savvy?”

Aziraphale sputtered, blue eyes wide, “I-uh...wait, what?”

Crowley rolled his head back with a groan, exasperated as he unfolded his long lean limbs in his leather office chair to sit up. “I'm. Not. Interested. In. Whatever. You're. Trying. To. Sell.” Crowley enunciated slowly and loudly. He flicked his hand, “Now, go on. Out with you. And send my secretary in on your way to the elevator. Need to have a little talk about the people she lets in...”

“Now see here!” Aziraphale frowned, heart beating loudly in his chest, “You can't send me away like this! This is a matter of great importance! Your soul depends on it!”

At the mention of his soul, Crowley simply looked at Aziraphale with his least impressed look yet. “Now you're just making this weird.”

Aziraphale pouted, affronted, “I'm not _weird_! I'm an angel, dear boy. _Your_ angel! A Guardian Angel as it were, to help in your time of need!”

A moment passed. Two passed. The office chair squeaked. Three. “You want to try that again?”

Aziraphale sighed with a wave of his hand, starting to pace in front of the desk, “Well, I am a Principality to be more exact, that’s an angel of the third sphere-”

“Pull the other one.”

Aziraphale's head snapped up, “Good gracious, I am trying to be serious here you know.”

“You're just making words up.”

“I did _not_ make that up! Why, haven't you read the Bible?”

He took the blank look Crowley gave him as a solid No.

Aziraphale deflated, “What about the Torah? Not even the Qur'an? Really, just about any Belief will do, God isn't fussy...”

“None of the above really,” Crowley said with a sniff, folding up his magazine, “I suppose I fancy myself an Atheist more than anything.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale paled, wringing his hands and fiddling with the gold ring on his pinky finger as he fretted to himself, “That is _not_ going to look good on my report...”

“Aaaaand on that lovely note,” Crowley pushed himself out from his desk with one long motion, “I think it's best you made acquaintances with the door, Mr. Angel.”

“Wait, please!” Aziraphale scrambled in front of Crowley as he started to stride for the door. “I mean to help you! You are in great danger, and not just from the cancer.”

 _That_ stopped Crowley in his tracks. For a tense moment his face was inscrutable. That is except for the small muscle in his jaw that started to twitch, making the snake tattoo near his sideburn almost seem to wriggle.

Aziraphale gulped.

Crowley lowered his glasses just slightly. Over the rims, his brown eyes glared at Aziraphale. Hard. They _burned_.

“ _What did you just say?_ ”

“I'm so sorry, I-i didn't mean to upset you. But it's why I'm here, you see,” he babbled while Crowley continued to glower menacingly. “You haven't got much time left on this Earth, poor boy. I have been tasked to guide you. Lest your soul be lost to, ah...the _other_ side.”

“Other side?”

Aziraphale pointed a tentative finger towards the ground. Crowley followed it with a lopsided grimace.

“I don't suppose you're talking about the accounting department, are you?” Crowley muttered, circling around to his desk.

“Quite not, I'm afraid,” Aziraphale let out a breath.

Crowley picked up a half full wine glass off his desk, giving it a tentative sniff, brow wrinkled. “Must be stronger stuff than I thought...”

“Pardon?” Aziraphale cocked his head.

“Look,” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose, sucking in a deep weary breath, “I don't know how you knew about... _that_. I...haven't told anyone about it. And I plan on keeping it that way, thank you very much. So I think it's really best you leave now and go back to whatever old rinky dink cult church you came from.”

“Rinky Dink...?Ah,” Aziraphale sagged, voice soft, “You still don't believe me, do you?”

Crowley shrugged, leaning to rest his rump on his desk, “Duh.”

Aziraphale's lips quirked down, “I see...”

He rather hoped it wouldn't have to come to this, it really did take a lot out of him. And oh the paperwork he would have to go through to explain it...

Aziraphale sent his gaze skyward and gave a little resigned sigh. “Forgive me...”

Crowley frowned, “Forgive for wha-?”

He was cut off as a massive set of gloriously and painfully white wings manifested in his dark office, shedding a soft ethereal light on the whole room and knocking over files on the bookshelves as they unfurled to their full span.

And in the middle of it all stood Aziraphale looking small, expectant, and a little tired, hands patiently resting on his belly.

“When are you due for a lunch break? I believe we should have a talk.”

…


	3. Chapter 3

The sandwiches had been Aziraphale's insistence, and Crowley was too numb to argue about anything for once in his life. Which is how he ended up sat on the bench at the park, sun warming his back, and an angel humming in rapture as he ate noisily beside him. Crowley processed none of it. Mechanically he started to tear off little pieces of his own sandwich in his hand and tossed the bread to the pond. Soon the ducks had formed a little quacking circle around him.

Aziraphale beamed brightly, wiping mayo from his lip, “How thoughtful, dear! Caring for God's little creatures is very good indeed. See, I knew you weren't all that bad. We'll have you on the right path in no time. Easy as...cake? Was it cake? Pudding? Pie! Easy as pie, that's the phrase I was thinking of, haha...”

“Bread has poor nutritional value for ducks...” Crowley said faintly, monotonous, still staring into the middle distance at nothing, “And bread can mold and pollute waterways...”

Aziraphale smacked his lips, taking a large slow swallow. “Yes well, anyway...” he said almost inaudibly before tucking in again.

“This is real... I am going to die.” Crowley's face suddenly crinkled at the thought, “Damn.”

“Quite so,” Aziraphale licked his forefinger clean with a 'pop'. “I know this all must be a lot to handle, but you do still have time before the big day. Your body may die, but souls are forever, you know. Your true concern should be on your eternal life beyond this one, and where you will be spending it.”

Crowley let a hard breath out, rocking back in his seat until he was looking up at the sky. Fluffy clouds reflected in his large sunglasses. He loosened the red silk tie around his neck as the cogs turned in his head.

“And I'm really going to Hell. Capital H. Fire and brimstone and all that?”

“As I've been told, yes, you are,” Aziraphale nodded somberly.

“As you were told...in Heaven. Capital H.” Crowley pointed a finger up at the clouds, still looking rather stunned.

“In Heaven, yes.”

Crowley's head rolled to the side to looks at Aziraphale, “By God himself?”

“Ah, oh no, I'm afraid. I was given your case by my...supervising Archangel, Gabriel, actually.”

Crowley's eyebrow quirked, his brown eyes once again pierced Aziraphale over the rims of his glasses, “Gabriel...ain't he the bloke with the trumpet or something like that?”

Aziraphale plucked nonexistent crumbs from his blue button shirt, “Well, yes in some tropes, I believe so...”

Crowley's head rolled back to look up at the sky, “Huh...”

At the long silence that followed, Aziraphale shifted awkwardly in his seat. He looked from the ducks wading nearby to Crowley's blank expression, still staring at the heavens. A part of him almost wished he could remove those obtrusive glasses, if only to help know what the strange human was thinking, just once. Instead Aziraphale reminded himself that they had some time yet to get to know each other. It was really quite exciting when he thought about it. He had never had a proper human companion before (or admittedly _any_ kind of companion before, if he was perfectly honest. And drunk).

He clapped his hands together. “Well then, now that that's all settled, we can get down to business. I think that your best strategy is mostly to commit yourself to Good Deeds, in order to repent for your past trespasses-”

“Angel.”

“Huh, oh, please call me Aziraphale.”

“Gesundheit,” Crowley said, “Are you telling me I'm going to have to _work_ for this? I can't just like drink holy water two times a day or something? Get baptized and be done with it? Kiss the Pope's hand?”

“No, no, no, dear!” Aziraphale gave a small laugh, “I'm very sorry to say you have a lifetime to make up for. Luckily for you, goodness creates waves not unlike ripples on the water, creating a large impact in the end. You should make up the slack in no time with just small gestures,” Aziraphale's eyes crinkled as he spoke animatedly, “Let's start with your employees for example, when I came in to your work I couldn't help but notice you were rather-”

“ _You have got to be kidding me_...” Crowley groaned loudly, crunching up the remainder of his sandwich in its wrapper. With a huff he ran a hand roughly through his short fiery hair, mussing it. “...'Suppose there's a reason it's a stairway to Heaven, but a highway to Hell...” he muttered.

Aziraphale looked puzzled, lips working as he mulled over the phrase, “Come again? I'm not familiar with those expressions...”

Crowley suddenly went ridged. His head slowly turned as he straightened himself, looking at Aziraphale with the most dead serious expression the angel had seen yet. “Angel. Please tell me. You have heard. _Good music_. From the past 50 years. _At least_. In Heaven.”

Aziraphale squirmed slightly in his seat, twiddling his thumbs in front of him, “Well...you see ...the thing is....alright, many composers and the like have been sent to Hell. So we, ah, like to stick to Hallelujahs and hosannas, typically. Maybe gospel if we're feeling frisky.”

Crowley groaned again, rubbing his hands over his face and under his glasses to press on his eyes. “Remind me again, angel, _why_ I want to go to Heaven?”

“Oh, my dear boy, Heaven is a wonderful place. _It is_!” He added hastily when he saw the dark look Crowley was giving him between his pale fingers. “Yes, yes, why there's...”

Aziraphale's face dropped.

A cricket chirped.

Crowley waved his hand, bobbing his head expectantly, “Yes. _And_...?”

“Just give me a moment! There's, ah...” Aziraphale licked his lips, eyes squinting in thought, “Well, it's very clean. And quiet. White.”

“Uh huh?”

“And oh so peaceful. Everyone has their own space. It's always 68 degrees Fahrenheit, and-”

“Angel.” Crowley interrupted, voice flat, “I know that place, because I _work_ in that place. Are you trying to tell me I'm trying to work until my dying breath just to get stuck in _another_ little corporate box?

Aziraphale's eyes fell, looking away from Crowley awkwardly. He ran his hands over his corduroy pants. “Well when you put it like that...”

“Yeah, okay. Alright.” Crowley suddenly stood. He carelessly tossed his ball of trash to Aziraphale as his hands busied themselves smoothing out his pristine black suit, black dress shirt, and red necktie.

“Thank you for the little head's up about my imminent demise, angel. Really. Great for the heart. Lots to think about. You really drive a hard bargain here, but no offense, I think I'll prefer my Best of Queen tape to your _celestial harmonies_ ,” he waggled his fingers for effect, “I'll take my chances with Hell. Have a blessed day, or whatever it is you do.”

With a limp throwaway hand wave over his shoulder and an abrupt snake-skinned heel turn, Crowley strode away before Aziraphale could say anything more. The angel watched him leave while holding the wadded up sandwich in his hands pathetically, alone.

A duck quacked despondently from the water.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm going to start updating this on sundays? we shall see how that goes. But for now, hope you all like this! I had fun writing this little exchange :)


	4. Chapter 4

A week later, Crowley opened his office door a crack, poking his nose around the corner ever so slowly. When he felt confident that there was no little round angel waiting on the other side, he ducked inside, slipping along the wall exactly how he saw on just about every other spy movie and elegantly closed the door with his heel without a sound. (Considering his tight suit pants prevented him from doing any action rolls, he thought he still looked pretty cool, and that's what really mattered.)

He let out a breath he had been holding and stretched his back. All the sneaking around was really starting to take it out of him. He was not a young man anymore. He was simply not cut out to be speed walking everywhere, contorting himself around door frames to stay out of sight, or lunging through crowds on the sidewalk to avoid being seen by annoying angels. (He didn't have any trouble however pulling his best impression of his own dead corpse, not moving or breathing after Aziraphale followed him to his apartment the other day. He spent over 45 minutes laying as still as possible out of sight on his couch, waiting for the angel to stop knocking on his door and leave. Almost had himself a nap. But he digressed.) At least his guardian angel didn't have a car. Crowley was safe from the persistent nagging in his old Austin-Healey.

Aziraphale knew his office of course, but Crowley hoped he could have at least a couple of hours of angel-less silence to work. Maybe he would yell at a couple of the office ficus' or unpaid interns to make himself feel better...

Crowley straightened his tie (black with a maroon shirt today) and rubbed along his shivering forearms. He always felt cold these days. Of course now he bloody well knew _why_ didn't he? He had thought he would just pop down to the doctor's office real quick for his chills and dizzy spells, maybe earn himself a prescription or a shot at worse. But no. He found out he has god damned actual cancer running through his veins. Just goes to show what he gets for taking care of himself for once, he thought bitterly.

“Crowley.”

He spun around to face the sudden voice coming from behind his desk.

His own office chair spun around, revealing a man seated at it, “You're bloody late. I've been waiting in your office for almost an hour.”

“Hastur,” Crowley's face reflexively stretched into a convincing smile (a skill achieved only by those sufficiently experienced in the art of kissing corporate ass), “What a surprise. Can I get you something to drink?”

“T'would like an explanation for why you're late to work for starters,” Hastur said gruffly, resting his elbows on Crowley's desk and tenting his hands in front of himself. (Speaking of spy movie cliches... Crowley really regretted recommending those to Hastur now.)

“Oh you know how it is,” Crowley said forcibly casual, swaying on his feet, “London traffic, am I right? Too many damn cab drivers.” That was the explanation he settled on anyway. He wasn't sure how to explain being stalked by an angel in a way that didn't get him taken away in a white van.

Hastur didn't seem happy with this explanation, but then again Hastur never seemed happy so what was there to do.

The man finally stood from Crowley's chair. He was tall and wore a suit, however his hair and clothes were so unkempt and ragged that it actually did very little the help his appearance. Crowley tried very hard not to visibly cringe watching Hastur's grubby hands brush against the sterile glossy surfaces of his office.

“I came because the bosses aren't happy with things around here Crowley. Not happy.”

“Th-that so?” Crowley's eyes narrowed behind his shades, “How come? My districts numbers are up from the last 2 quarters.”

“Oh yes, but so are your customer reviews.”

“...Okay?...Isn't that a good thing?”

Hastur rolled his eyes, “Good gravy man, you run a telemarketing business. You aren't supposed to be _nice_ to customers! We bother people relaxing at home, watching TV, sitting in the bath. Nice is nice, but we are _annoying_ , Crowley. The industry is dying. We need more people sticking their foot in other people's doors. More ruthless and cunning. Be more cut-throat! Can't you even manage that?”

“Cut-throat huh?” Crowley folded his arms. His mouth made a tense line, “Alright alright, you just tell the others not to worry. I'll have the peons scared straight by the end of the day. I promise.”

“Don't you go soft on us now,” Hastur wagged one grimy finger at Crowley. His beetle black eyes glittered. “If things don't get better, it's not the peons that need to worry about keeping their job.”

“...Right...”

“That reminds me,” Hastur frowned, not noticing the dark look that had clouded over Crowley's face, “What was this I heard about you taking a day off the other week? What in the world were you thinking?”

Crowley's hand ran along his trembling forearm, “Doctor's appointment. One time thing. Nothing to worry about.”

“I certainly hope not,” Hastur said, “But I am beginning to wonder...”

He was cut off as the door to the office suddenly opened. A familiar blonde and tartan colored frame bustled through, “Ah, there you are! You lost me for a moment there jumping on that underground escalator like that, I had to- oh. Oh my...”

Aziraphale had stopped in his tracks, mid-step. He looked at Hastur like a man who had just come across a crocodile in his swimming pool.

Hastur likewise looked at Aziraphale like a man who had just had a mouse fall out of his morning cereal box.

Such similar yet distinct wide-eyed expressions of surprise and alarm.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking between the two.

“Uh, no worries. I think we were just about finished here.” Crowley tilted his head to Hastur expectantly.

“What? Oh, yes...I think...yes...” Hastur blinked dazedly.

When he didn't make a move, Crowley coughed, “Do you mind if I have some privacy to talk to my, err...client?”

“Client...yes...client...” Hastur said faintly, letting himself be nudged toward the door. He kept turning his head to stare widely at Aziraphale, giving the angel a wide berth as he walked around.

Crowley was surprised to see the angel also giving Hastur an uncharacteristically hard look. His blue eyes threw little ice daggers, watching Hastur's every move until the man was out of the office.

As soon as the door clicked closed, Aziraphale rounded on Crowley, “ _Good Heavens, what are you doing letting a demon in your office_?”

“A...wait, what demon?”

Aziraphale threw his hands out behind him, “ _That_ one! The one that was just here. Oh my, you didn't even know. Oh you poor thing, no wonder you're so troubled...”

“Hastur's a...huh...” Crowley found himself equally surprised and equally not, staring dumbfoundedly at his office door. “Go figure...”

Aziraphale tutted, “He didn't hurt you did he? You're very lucky I was here to thwart him. He'll have to think twice about using his wiles on you.”

“Yes yes, very nice thwarting,” Crowley said distractedly, running a handkerchief along his tarnished desk, “Regular Thwart Master you are...”

“Oh, why thank you!” Aziraphale preened at the praise, Crowley's vague sarcasm sailing over somewhere in the vicinity of his precious halo.

Under his glasses, Crowley rolled his eyes.

Finally satisfied with the cleanliness, Crowley collapsed into his office chair. He already felt much too tired for so early in the day. This did not improve as he watched Aziraphale make himself comfortable with a book as a plush velvet armchair miraculously appeared in his office.

Crowley groaned, “Just how long do you plan on butting your plump tush in my life, angel?”

“Until you can mend your ways, or until the very end. Whichever comes first,” Aziraphale said, adjusting his reading glasses on the end of his nose. He gave a quick lick of his index finger and loudly turned the page of his book.

Crowley could only stare.

_The insufferable bastard._

“I can't work like this, you know,” Crowley said, shaking his head.

 _Lick_. Page turn.

“Ngk...” Crowley ground his molars, hands clenching the armrests of his chair. He rolled his neck before trying again, aggressively gentle, “Please...?”

Aziraphale looked over the rim of his glasses, pale eyebrow raised.

Crowley sighed, “Alright, tell you what. There's a little cafe a couple doors down from the front entrance. You go leave me alone and I'll meet you for lunch there later and...we'll actually talk about whatever angel stuff it is you want to talk about or something... maybe...”

Aziraphale worried his lip, not entirely convinced, but then again... “I have been feeling a bit peckish...”

“Good. Great. Grand,” Crowley said, “Then it's a deal?”

“...Fine.” Aziraphale stood quickly, tucking his book under his arm. His chair suddenly vanished in an instant as he turned on his heel to leave, nose up-turned, “I will be waiting.”

Crowley managed to keep up a convincing smile until Aziraphale left. Then his body immediately deflated, energy spent. Running a hand down his face, he felt around for one of his large desk drawers. Opening it, he took out a wine bottle and a glass. He poured himself a generous amount before starting on his emails, he had a feeling he would need it.

...


	5. Chapter 5

It had been quiet.

Too quiet.

Crowley did _not_ go to the cafe at lunch to meet Aziraphale. He did not go on his way home. He did not go there for dinner either. Not that day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

He only wanted to be left well enough alone with some peace and quiet. He was so sure he was going to catch some kind of flack from the angel about ditching him. But so far...nothing.

No portly men huffing to keep up with him on the sidewalk. No nagging over his shoulder about giving to the homeless chaps on the street corners they passed. Or giving a ride in his precious car to a needy stranger. Or stopping for a church bake sale. Or saving a cat from a blasted tree. Or whatever asinine little nice thing Aziraphale wanted him to do.

Nothing.

Not a golden haired peep.

Crowley could definitely get used to this.

Crowley had a pep in his step as he made his weekly rounds scowling and prowling up and down all the floors of the building, in between each and every cubicle. It reminded the people who was boss, and always gave him a nice warm feeling in his lower intestine. He reveled in the fact that he couldn't have done it with an angel over his shoulder. Probably would have killed his style tutting and sighing in disapproval the whole time, Crowley thought. Then he would have undone all Crowley's hard work handing out blessings around the water cooler, or some other angelic nonsense.

Yes, Crowley was most assuredly glad to be rid of Aziraphale.

Yet as he settled back in his chair after a good session of prowling, he felt...off.

It had been way too easy to get rid of Aziraphale. The Guardian Angel had been valiantly glued to Crowley's side since they acquainted only several days ago. It felt weird he should just up and disappear now.

Not that Crowley cared.

At all.

Not a bit.

He tapped his pale index finger against the arm of his chair.

_...Damn it._

Crowley always had a rather active imagination and curiosity, and it was working against him now. His mind supplied helpful images of Hastur the demon taking a strike against the new angel in Crowley's life, leaving him a tweed colored puddle in a dark alley somewhere, gleefully ripping him into little pieces of sunshine.

Or maybe Aziraphale wasn't as diligent and determined as Crowley thought. What if he finally had enough of Crowley's shit after being stood up and had simply up and returned to Heaven. What if he wrote him off as a lost cause? What if he had left Crowley?

Okay that thought was too dark, even for him.

Surely _surely_ Aziraphale wouldn't just abandon him...

...Right...?

Crowley ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the auburn strands.

He had accepted long before his unfortunate medical prognosis that he had a miserable life and would most likely have a miserable death. He was fine with that, welcomed it. At least he thought so. It was very different hearing the news of your death from a doctor than it was from an Angel, as it turned out.

 _Death_ he was okay with. _Dying_ scared him rather silly.

As mind-numbingly annoying as the angel had been, Crowley had to begrudgingly admit that it was a nice prospect not being alone. For once.

“I need to go find him again, don't I?” Crowley deadpanned to the pothos plant on his shelf.

The leaves gave a little shake on the vine.

Crowley groaned.

He scowled to himself in thought as he started his usual trudge down the sidewalk after work. He had no idea how to contact Aziraphale. Did angels have cell phones to call? Where would an angel even go, in central London?

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets, muttering to himself things like, “...stupid...feather-brained fool...”

He happened to look up at the sign on the passing building. It was the same cafe that he had told Aziraphale to meet him at. He glanced inside, shaking his head as he walked past.

He glimpsed a flash of white.

Crowley stopped in his tracks.

He retraced his steps mechanically, walking backwards, immediately pressing his face against the window in disbelief.

“Oh, for the love of...”

He hurried to the door, a bell jingled as he burst in.

The cafe was nearly empty and quiet save for gentle radio music. And there, sitting at a booth in the corner, sat Aziraphale bent over his book on the table. Crowley pushed his sunglasses up his face to be sure, but nope, still same familiar pale plump figure.

Crowley approached slowly, as if dreaming.

“Aziraphale?”

The angel startled at the sound, giving a little jump in his seat. He looked up to see Crowley with his mouth still slightly agape and glasses resting up on his forehead.

“Oh, there you are. That took you quite a while, didn't it?”

Standing this close, Crowley could see the thin wispy layer of dust that had started to settle on Aziraphale. “What... are you doing?”

“Reading?” Aziraphale said simply. He lifted the book to show Crowley the cover, “Jules Verne. Never been one for the science fiction myself. But he did have some charming ideas about space and such. Are you fascinated by that kind of thing?”

“Are you telling me you have been sitting here the _whole_ time?” Crowley said incredulously.

“...Yes?” said Aziraphale, now sounding equally confused.

“Angel,” Crowley said, “It is now Thursday.”

“Thurs-what!” Aziraphale swiveled in his seat, looking outside and then down at his watch. He let out a frustrated groan. “Oh, bugger...” He picked up his novel, giving it a dirty look, “This is all your fault. Oh this is so embarrassing...”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley sheepishly, “I'm so sorry I seem to have lost myself. I should have been helping you but...ah...Can you ever forgive me?”

Crowley stared blinking, “You...I...you...”

A strange sort of rumble started in Crowley's belly, working its way up from just below his ribs to the back of his throat until it came out as a great loud wheezing guffaw. Crowley clutched his stomach as he threw back his head and laughed. His whole wiry frame shook.

Aziraphale's eyes widened as he watched uncertainly as Crowley cackled. It was the first time he had ever seen the man genuinely laugh (not at others misfortune). “Have I said something that funny?”

Crowley waved him off, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes as he straightened his sunglasses, “Oh not really it's just...ah nevermind, angel. Everything's good...”

“Oh. Very good then,” Aziraphale's eyes crinkled. His face suddenly twisted in thought, “Ah, does this mean we can have that lunch now?”

“You know what, angel, yeah,” Crowley said, lips twitching upward in spite of himself. “Yes. I'll have lunch with you.”

“ _Really_?”

Crowley was suddenly very grateful for his glasses or he was certain if he had caught the full force of Aziraphale's absolutely disgustingly sincere smile he would have collapsed.

...

It would be untrue to say that Crowley _liked_ this angel. But angels were curious creatures and Crowley was a curious human. So it seemed like justice he felt drawn to Aziraphale like a magnet (a very annoyed reluctant magnet).

Crowley couldn't help but watch Aziraphale. He felt a bit odd about it, like gawking at an exotic animal at a zoo. But he could not summon the shame. Standing near Aziraphale was like standing near the ocean, a calm bubbly surface but he could sense great and wonderful and unsettling depths underneath. Crowley found he couldn't well turn away. (He also would have happily likened it to watching a car crash, he would tell himself.)

“Why do you eat?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale paused halfway through piling his next bite on his fork, “Pardon?”

Crowley waved his hand vaguely, “It's just...I figure an angel would be all ethereal or whatever. Made of Light or spirit-y universe goop, what have you. Didn't think you would need to eat, 's all.”

“Oh, you're not far off on that,” Aziraphale said. “What you see is only my physical corporation to have while on Earth. But, well, when in Rome...”

He took a bite, face relaxing into rapturous repose, “Scrumptious...It's just not the same if it's not made by humans. I may not _need_ to, but I find I do like the act of eating. I have to enjoy it while I can.”

Crowley cocked his head, “Do other angels eat and do human things on Earth too?”

Aziraphale thought about the last time he tried explaining sushi to Gabriel, or the concept of seasonings and flavour. He grimaced, “...Not exactly.”

Crowley pondered this over a slow sip of his black coffee (“That's not food, dear boy!” “It is the way I drink it.”), “Duly noted: Bland food in Heaven. Hmm, definitely sounds corporate. Or maybe like a hospital? Wonder what that makes Hell...”

“Well hopefully when I'm done with you, you won't ever have to find out,” Aziraphale said curtly, wiping his lip with his napkin.

“Probably have better food down there, if they have better music,” Crowley said lowly into his cup which earned him a steely side gaze from Aziraphale.

“You're just having a laugh, aren't you?” the angel tutted.

“Well okay then, you're doing a piss poor job selling me on Heaven. So what about Hell?” Crowley crossed his arms. Behind his glasses, his brown eyes were alight. (He would never admit to how much _fun_ he had winding his poor Guardian Angel up.) “What's waiting for me down in Hell? Scare me straight Mr. Guardian Angel.”

Aziraphale's pursed his lips, looking suddenly serious, “If I tell you, will you promise to start behaving and doing what I tell you?”

“I never make promises,” Crowley said flatly with a little shake of his head. He took an unnecessarily loud slurp of his coffee as he met Aziraphale's eye.

Aziraphale mulled this over with a pout, eyes narrowed as if trying to pierce Crowley's dark shades. “Fine,” he finally said, defeated.

He bent conspiratorially over the table, voice barely a low whisper. Crowley mirrored him, eyebrows raised.

“Well, in Hell, for starters I suspect the first thing to do would be to tear your soul asunder with whatever infernal means are judged appropriate,” Aziraphale said. “You will be tortured for a period, tearing you down and then reassembling you as a demon. You will be sent onto the world then for diabolical purposes, and at that point we will be adversaries.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“It is not!” Aziraphale gasped, exasperated, “This is very nasty business! Demons are no laughing matter.”

“Can't be that bad. 'Reckon a demon can just spend their days tempting poor dullards to do their usual mindless nonsense. Make some mischief on the side... Doesn't sound all that bad a gig to be perfectly honest. Right more fulfilling than what I do now.”

“Oh I am not hearing this,” Aziraphale said faintly. Crowley heard him mutter a couple Hail Mary's under his breath.

The corner of Crowley's thin mouth pulled taut into a sly grin, “Aw, c'mon now, what's with all the pearl clutching. What'd you expect from a guy going to Hell? Knitting by the fireside? Baking biscuits? Watching the Sound of Music?”

“Oh gracious no,” Aziraphale blanched, rolling his eyes at the mention.

“What then?”

“Well...” Aziraphale's nervous hands folded and refolded his paper napkin seemingly of their own volition, “I don't really know...To be perfectly honest with you, I've never actually been a Guardian Angel before...”

“You don't say...” Crowley snarked, but it held no real bite. His canines flashed in a brief smirk.

“Don't you ever take anything seriously?” Aziraphale exhaled, long suffering.

“Never. Least of all myself,” Crowley said frankly, shrugging, “'Sides, need to practice my being Nasty and Mean if I'm spending eternity in Hell. Might even try to tempt you to a second desert.”

“Crowley.”

“Although considering the way you went after those strawberries, it probably wouldn't be much of a temptation.”

“ _Anthony_.”

He merely answered Aziraphale's plea with a slick grin, “Stick with just Crowley. No one's called me Anthony since I was about 6.”

Aziraphale looked supremely distressed, eyes watery. “I mean it,” he said. “At this rate, well... I worry for you.”

“Bah...” Crowley lazily flicked his wrist, waving him off. However the teasing grin was gone now. “I highly doubt you and your angel buddies would really miss me in the choir.”

“Dear boy, of course we would.” Aziraphale had a firm steely look in his eye, serious. It didn't match his soft exterior at all, and Crowley was rather touched by the unwavering sincerely even if he would never ever admit it.

“Tell me one more thing then,” Crowley said slowly, before he could stop himself (not that he ever could), “What’s so important about me that God sent a literal angel to save my soul?”

Aziraphale nearly choked on his food, suddenly stiff, “Well...um...”

“...Yeah?”

Aziraphale made a slow drag of his napkin around the corner of his mouth, stalling. Crowley found himself subconsciously leaning forward in his seat, straining toward Aziraphale. However all the angel offered in a weak voice was, “...It's ineffable.”

“ _Ineffable_?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, blue eyes wide.

“Oh,” Crowley muttered, settling back in his seat heavily, “That's rather convenient isn't it?”

Aziraphale let out a breath, his shoulders fell, “I'm sorry. They don’t tell us anything up there.”

“Alright, alright...” Crowley held up his hands as if to placate the angel's apologetic rambling. However Aziraphale could tell from the tense line of his jaw he was more disappointed than he was trying to let on. “Don't beat yourself up. I don't know what I expected...”

“Likewise,” Aziraphale said quietly, “I'm afraid to admit that Heaven hasn't done all that much to win me over either lately.”

Crowley's eyebrows were lost in his hairline at that, but Aziraphale continued gently, “But I am here now, and all I know is that I’ve been assigned to keep you on the straight and narrow from here on out. So I think both of us are going to have to get used to the idea.”

“Hmm...” Crowley tapped his finger against his cup in thought. Eventually his brow did relax and he let out a small sniff of a laugh, “I can't say I understand it all. But I suppose I can appreciate an honest angel. So there's that.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale practically glowed.

Crowley's gaze slid over the top of his shades, warm brown, “Still think you're a pain in the arse though.”

Aziraphale mulled this over, shrugging, “We can be in mutual agreement then.”

Crowley sputtered at that while Aziraphale chewed serenely, “Now, that was not a very angelic comment. What happened to being all nice and Good and whatever?”

“Just being an honest angel,” Aziraphale said simply.

Crowley shot Aziraphale a dirty look, but the spark in his eyes betrayed his mirth, “Cheeky git.”

Aziraphale beamed.

By the time the server came to give them the check, the two of them were chatting easily. Crowley's limbs were spread haphazardly in the booth, and Aziraphale's hands had started to take a life of their own, waving animatedly as he spoke.

“Oh, that reminds me I had the best idea how you should get started on your road to redemption,” Aziraphale tittered as Crowley took the check, “Why don't you start giving paid vacations to your employees? Or at the very least a living wage...”

“Yeah, yeah, I'll get right on that,” Crowley said airily, “So, how're those crepes treating you?”

“Oh, they are _excellent._ I haven’t had a decent crepe in two centuries! Oh, let me just tell you about the last time, it was 1793 and I had just popped across the channel to France because I was feeling peckish…”

Crowley grinned into his cup.

…


	6. Chapter 6

Aziraphale had successfully managed to break the ice with Crowley, however all this seemed to manage to do was create icebergs to navigate.

Crowley appeared to accept and even welcome his company now, which was a marked improvement. Aziraphale had been getting rather winded chasing the man down. Lately they had taken to eating together often. Crowley sometimes asked about Heaven or angels (or just poked fun at Heaven or angels), and Aziraphale was all too happy to oblige his questions and gush about the food. It was a nice easy system. Aziraphale was happy to report the strong connection of rapport he had bridged between himself and Crowley. But actually getting Crowley to do anything that Aziraphale told him to do? Never on Crowley's life (which was starting to look quite likely).

Aziraphale couldn't be sure, but he was starting to think that Crowley almost delighted in doing the exact opposite of whatever Aziraphale suggested (the direct eye contact Crowley made while he did it left little room for misinterpretation, even for someone like Aziraphale).

Watching Crowley put the fear of...well, Crowley into another intern in his office one afternoon, Aziraphale was starting to worry that this trip to Earth might not amount for anything but a couple new first editions to smuggle back to Heaven.

After sending another another zombie-eyed intern out with a roar of 'DOOO BETTERRR', Crowley gave a satisfied little sigh. Relaxing back in his office chair, he kicked his feet up and flipped open his car magazine again.

Aziraphale gave the intern a little encouraging smile, dusting off their shoulders as he gently ushered them to the door, “There there, that's a dear. Why don't you take an extra long lunch break, yes? That's the ticket...”

Once the door closed, Aziraphale's face fell. He turned to Crowley, lips tight, “Don't you think that was a little...harsh?”

Crowley rolled his head on his shoulder to look at Aziraphale. His eyebrows quirked over the rim of his glasses, “What did we say about you talking while I'm working?”

“Surely you shouting at people isn't part of your job description.”

“They can take it,” Crowley muttered lowly, turning away, “Adversity builds character and all that.”

“You can't keep going on like this,” Aziraphale sighed, “I know you aren't really evil. Surely you must _want_ to do good by your fellow man. ”

“Nope,” Crowley said simply.

“Don't you want to go to Heaven?”

“Nope,” Crowley popped the 'p' with a dramatic lip roll.

Aziraphale pouted, “Don't you have any sense of self-preservation?”

“Nope.”

“Don't you have any family, friends, people that want the best for you and your soul? That love you?”

“ _No_ -” Crowley leaned forward pointedly before exhaling the last syllable, “- _Puh_.”

Aziraphale's brow crinkled, “Surely there's something on this blessed Earth you love.”

Crowley took a long hard think about it, twisting his mouth. “I love my car,” he finally said, idly turning the page.

Aziraphale suddenly went silent. Crowley hoped that that was the end of it. Almost stirred up something rather sore and depressing for a second there...

Crowley felt around for his bottle of wine in his desk, pouring himself a glass.

“Do you...really have nothing to live for?”

Crowley startled at the soft voice, almost splashing the wine on his desk. He snapped his head up to see Aziraphale looking intently at him with wide wet eyes.

_Shit_.

Crowley simply answered with sip of his wine, not meeting Aziraphale's eyes.

Aziraphale shook his head, as if snapping out of it, “Should you really be doing that at work, especially in your...condition?”

Crowley replied with a long slow drag straight from the bottle.

Aziraphale rubbed a hand down his face, “Now that was just unnecessary...”

“You know, I think I _will_ prefer being a demon,” Crowley started hotly, “It would mean I could pester and nettle you for a change. For eternity, no less.”

“We've talked about this. You know I'm only doing my job,” Aziraphale said patiently.

When Crowley tried to take another mouthful of wine, Aziraphale gave a snap of his fingers and Crowley found himself gulping water instead. Crowley let out a growl as he squinted at the now clear liquid sloshing in his hand. He slammed the glass down harshly on his desk and turned a level 9 scowl on Aziraphale, “Stop doing that!”

Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap, but said nothing. He had his chin tipped up, watching Crowley.

Crowley's glare could have burned through his glasses, “You know. I'm starting to wonder if they sent you down here just to get rid of you, if you're half as insufferable here as you are in Heaven. Can't say I don't blame them.”

Aziraphale's breath hitched a bit and he had to promptly whisk away the acknowledgment in the back of his mind that that was exactly the kind of thing that Gabriel would do. He took a deep steadying breath through his nose, closing his eyes meditatively, “I know you're only saying these things through your own hurt feelings, and I forgive you.”

Crowley let out a growl, muttering under his breath, “...self righteous...big headed...”

Aziraphale's brow creased, starting to feel quite cross now, which was rare for him, “Crowley. I have told you that I have been sent here to help you. I have obligations to keep that I will not be neglecting. Now it's time to stop messing about. You will have to start listening and following my instructions. You are going to Heaven, whether you like it or not!”

“Oh good lord,” Crowley stared widely, breathless, “You actually thought you were going to come down here and literal Christmas Carol me. Make my heart grow three sizes and everything, didn't you?”

Aziraphale's lip quirked, “I think you're getting your texts mixed but-”

“ _Nu-uh_. That was _exactly_ what you were thinking. _Wasn't it_?” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale tried to search for a retort as he shifted his weight on his feet, but all that came out was a kind of high pitched whine from the back of his throat. Crowley smacked his hand against his forehead.

“Oh Jesus Christ on a boat. Okay. That's it. We're doing this.”

Crowley abruptly stood, knocking his chair back. He loomed over his desk with his hands splayed as he rounded on Aziraphale.

“Okay, angel. We're going to get something clear here. Allow me to introduce myself, since I apparently never actually got the chance to,” Crowley snarled. He jerked his glasses off letting them clatter on the desk, all the more to level the full power of his glower at Aziraphale. “Hi there. My name's Anthony Crowley, and I'm a miserable old bitch who never had anybody except the other miserable soulless sadists in this office.”

“This really isn't necessary-” Aziraphale said faintly.

“Oh apparently it is,” Crowley's canine teeth flashed, “Because let me tell you, I made my peace a long time ago that the world would probably be better off without me. _Oh_. But oh _no_. I come to find that I'm a nuisance to the afterlife as well.”

“Please I just want to help-”

“ _Help_?” Aziraphale could not help but think that Crowley would indeed make for a terrifying demon, normally warm brown eyes flashed with glints of cold gold as he whipped into a rage, “ _Help!_ I never asked for blinkin' help! Not yours. Not the Archangel fucking Gabriel's. And _especially_ not God's. I'm surprised she wasn't the one to give me the cancer in the first place.”

Aziraphale paled, growing stiff as a statue, “You...you don't believe that...”

Crowley scoffed humorlessly, “How do you know what I believe? You don't even know me. And yet you people come down here and judge me. Can't even tell me what for. Well let me tell you, I find it insulting at the very least. If you really wanted to make a difference in my life, you're a couple decades too late...”

Crowley's voice cracked as he wobbled on his legs and his strength gave out. He just managed to collapse back into his chair. He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes, willing the world to stop spinning and tilting in his head.

Aziraphale reached out a hand toward Crowley as he started to sway on his feet, but thought better of it. He let his fingers curl into a fist and fall by his side.

Aziraphale was an angel of the Lord, his powers were only limited by his will and imagination. Yet standing there before human grief, he felt absolutely small and helpless.

His chest _ached_.

“Oh, Crowley...”

“Jus' shut up,” Crowley growled, burying his face in his hands. His pale fingers were like claws against his scalp, “'m tired... I'm so tired...”

Aziraphale's eyes burned, his throat constricted. He hadn't been entirely sure he was capable of crying, but his corporation was doing a bang up job of trying.

He swallowed thickly, “May I at least offer to help with whatever symptom you're-”

“ _Leave. Me. Alone._ ”

Aziraphale immediately shuffled back from the tentative step he had taken toward this desk. He blinked rapidly, warding away the wetness in his eyes starting to overflow.

“Of course...yes...I understand...yes...”

Crowley heard Aziraphale murmur a couple more bumbling words of apologies, and then his office door gently closed.

Once again Crowley was alone in the dark.

…

Aziraphale was an idiot.

He was very intelligent. But also an idiot.

He would have to ponder the philosophical conundrum of such a state later, when he wasn't feeling depressed (about being an idiot).

Oh. He was a failure too. Couldn't forget that. He failed Her. He failed Gabriel. But most importantly he failed Crowley.

He really had forgotten what it was like to _talk_ to humans. To be with them. He was always on Earth for such short periods of time, with centuries in between. And humans lived such short lives. As much as Aziraphale was enamored by them so, it was hard to connect.

Maybe that was the problem. Heaven had no meaningful connection to humans anymore, to the ones that really needed it. Like Crowley. Everything was always about the next great war, and following the Plan, and filing the paperwork correctly. Then they would carelessly toss some help at Earth as an afterthought, just because they had to.

And it was half-baked help, much too late.

No wonder Crowley hated him.

Aziraphale's stomach churned so he couldn't even be bothered to eat his feelings (which was truly unusual and almost as distressing a development as acknowledging the fact that _Crowley hated him_ ).

Gabriel was probably having a right laugh at him in Heaven, Aziraphale thought. But no, that couldn't be right. Surely the Almighty would not consider Crowley a hopeless case? Why else would she send help now and not earlier...there had to be a reason. There was _always_ a reason...

Oh who was he kidding. It was all so terribly confusing. No wonder Crowley was angry and frustrated. Aziraphale almost felt angry on his behalf.

Those kinds of thoughts were distinctly unangelic, but even so had started occurring with uncanny frequency. Aziraphale tucked them away deftly.

With those treacherous thoughts gone, they naturally returned to Crowley. Aziraphale hadn't been given details of his file, that is to say his life. But he could easily surmise it had not been a good one for Crowley. Wouldn't really need a Guardian if he did, now would he? Honestly what did Aziraphale expect. Crowley really did have a point. He expected too much of the man.

He was not prepared to deal with the loneliness, the bitterness, the grief that came from having a human life on Earth.

Crowley deserved a much better Guardian Angel. One that could do more than talk his ear off over dinner...

Aziraphale finally set his cold cup of tea down after staring in thought at the same spot in the small cafe for hours. It had already gone dark outside. He had no desire to move from his seat, but figured he must. Maybe find a library to conceal himself inside for the night-

“ _Aziraphale_.”

Aziraphale stiffened looking around. He could have sworn he heard the sound of his name. But the cafe was quiet. No one was even looking at him.

“' _zira...fell_...”

The angel's head whipped around again. He _knew_ he heard something. He started to look under the table, and up at the ceiling... He had lifted up his saucer to look when the voice sounded out again, faint.

“ _Aziraphale...come here...please...”_

Aziraphale's eyes widened as he finally recognized the weak sounding voice. “Crowley!”

In a snap, he suddenly transported to wherever Crowley had called out to him through the ether. Judging by the crisp unlived-in modern aesthetic that materialized around him, it looked like the inside of Crowley's apartment. Or at least what Aziraphale recognized from the very limited glimpses he got of Crowley's apartment. However, it was missing something very important: Crowley.

That was worrisome. He should have teleported straight to him. Aziraphale turned in a circle, heart all at once beating quite fast.

“Crowley...are you here?”

His foot nudged something soft which gave a sharp annoyed 'oomph'. Aziraphale jumped back, eyes wide.

“G-good Heavens Crowley!”

Crowley scowled at him from the ground where he lay stiff as a board on his back. He had his arms crossed miserably over his chest, shoulders and brow equally scrunched.

When Crowley didn't make any immediate move to stand, much less explain his new horizontal position, Aziraphale was awkwardly forced to pry it out of him, “Dear boy, what are you doing on the floor?”

Crowley mumbled something through his clenched teeth.

“Pardon?”

“I may have found myself in some... trouble,” Crowley ground out as if the words literally pained him with each syllable.

“Trouble?” Aziraphale blinked, cocking his head at Crowley as he stood above him. He took one look up and down his prone body. “Do you mean you have perhaps...fallen down?”

“ _I. Did. Not. Fall._ ” Crowley spat, acidic, “I just...” he squirmed, readjusting his shoulders, “Sauntered vaguely downwards...”

“Okay...?” Aziraphale said slowly.

After great debate and effort on his part, Crowley did eventually admit, very quietly, “I'm...having trouble sauntering back up again...” The hard line of his grimace softened to a sad sheepish frown, “Could you...give me a hand?”

Aziraphale's belly swooped so, he forgot he was staring for a moment, “A hand...Oh, oh yes of course! Of course!”

Crowley released a put out but relieved huff.

Once Crowley was much more vertical and steady, he walked past Aziraphale without a word to the living room. He used the walls as a light brace, letting his fingers brush against them. It was a wonder he stayed upright with the way his hips swayed.

Aziraphale watched him go uncertainly, not sure where or how to proceed, still hesitant after earlier that day.

Thankfully Crowley settled his doubts, his voice called out just as Aziraphale thought he had disappeared, “Are you coming in, or are you just going to lurk in my hallway all night?”

Aziraphale pricked up like a meerkat, “O-oh, right...”

Low rock music started to play suddenly as Aziraphale entered the living room. He thought wildly for a moment that Crowley had just performed a miracle, but it was only one of those new wireless contraptions on his phone that had turned on the stereo.

Crowley had settled against the arm of his black leather sofa, tossing his phone on the coffee table. Aziraphale thought the sofa was rather stiff and hard for his own taste, more for form than function, but Crowley apparently had no problem getting comfortable. He curled his legs under himself, relaxing with a sigh. He took off his glasses to message his temples. Aziraphale thought he appeared quite small somehow, bony frame especially frail-looking when he was all balled up so.

“Come in. I'm done bullying for the day.”

Aziraphale crept towards the couch with soft steps, “I...hope you weren't sauntering for too long.”

“Long enough,” Crowley said, blinking hard and lightly shaking his head, “Damn dizzy spells...Took a spill and then couldn't move again without feeling like the world was falling away or almost losing my lunch...”

“Oh you poor-” Aziraphale was silenced with Crowley's hand. He stared, but Crowley did not look at him, only held his hand up deftly, cutting him off.

Aziraphale's face fell.

He started to turn towards the door when Crowley's soft voice stopped him, “I'm surprised that worked...”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, “You mean, you calling me just a while ago?”

“So you did hear that...” Crowley murmured. He still didn't look at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale twisted the ring around his pinky, “Well, yes. Nothing terribly special. Guardians are attuned to their charges.”

Crowley merely hummed in thought, eyes trained on a cushion on the couch. Aziraphale resisted the urge to leave again, as an even stronger urge told him to stay right there, even as the silence settled heavy and stretched long. He was rewarded when Crowley finally looked up to meet his eyes. He could tell Crowley was trying his hardest to keep his face even and unreadable as usual, but his eyes gave away the tired pain underneath. Those eyes really did give him away, Aziraphale wondered if that's why he kept them covered.

“I'm surprised you didn't fuck off to Heaven by now...” Crowley said.

Aziraphale shrugged, “It did briefly cross my mind.”

Crowley flinched ever so slightly at that sheepish admission. But admitted just as weakly, “I don't think I would have liked that.”

“Well, yes the floor seems rather uncomfortable.”

“Not _that_ ,” Crowley hissed, “I mean...oh forget it.”

Aziraphale's face dropped. But he was resigned. His voice was soft, “I'm...sorry I haven't been a good Guardian Angel to you. I didn't mean for you to think I was being judgmental. I hope you know I do wish the best for you.”

“Oh I don't have trouble believing that,” Crowley said dryly, “You're worst than a little ol' Gran.”

Aziraphale ignored him, running his thumb over his manicured nails as he admitted sadly, “I just...haven't the foggiest what I can do to help you...”

“Me neither...” Crowley said, just as pained. He leaned his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, “Not even sure if I see the _point_ to you trying to help me anyway.”

“Of course, there's a point,” Aziraphale said stubbornly, mostly to himself as he wrung his hands, “There's always a point.”

“'S not your fault I'm a mess. Don't beat yourself up too much,” Crowley said casually, “I'm sure you would be the first to dive in after me if I jumped off a bridge.”

“Oh, please don't do that,” Aziraphale shook his head, looking distressed, “I really do like this coat.”

Crowley let out a bark of a laugh.

Aziraphale's lip briefly twitched into a weak smile at the sound, but quickly relaxed into a remorseful grimace. He folded his hands behind his back, “If...if you truly do not wish for my help for your soul, I will respect your wishes and leave you alone, Crowley.”

Crowley's head snapped up, his hands gripped at his upper arms in tight fists, “I...I didn't mean anything like that...”

“What do you wish of me then?” Aziraphale asked, palms outstretched.

Crowley's lips twisted like the words were trying to sneak past them. Aziraphale watched him struggle and wrestle for a few moments.

“I...Alright look, there is one thing that you do that does help me?” Crowley eventually spat out.

Aziraphale cocked his head, “What would that be?”

“Just...well, for a stubborn bastard, I do appreciate your company, okay?”

“You...do?” Aziraphale said breathlessly.

“Yes.” Crowley huffed as he folded his arms, wagging his finger at Aziraphale, “And don't go getting a big head about it. I know I have a shitty way of showing it, but I do recognize that it may be beneficial for me to have companionship if these are to be the last times before I kick the bucket.”

Aziraphale felt so radiant he might just light up the room, but tried to play it, as Crowley would, Cool.

“I think I can manage that,” he nodded, trying to tone down his grin into something more Cool but mostly just contorted his mouth into a goofy squiggle of a line.

“I'm...not too annoying?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley's lip quirked, “Only when you're trying to be.”

“You're sure?”

“Yeesss...” Crowley groaned, rolling his eyes, “Now please don't make me say it anymore, okay. You're alright. If you don't mind chatting with a dead man, you can stay as long as you keep the 'Come To Jesus Meetings' to a minimum.”

Aziraphale nodded mutely. He took a chance to sit on the edge of the sofa across from Crowley. When he didn't have his head immediately bitten off, he relaxed.

The leather couch squeaked as Crowley unraveled himself, stretching to rest his feet on the coffee table. Looking much more at ease, he spread his arms along the back of the couch. “Don't go telling your angel friends about this. I have a reputation you know.”

Aziraphale was too pleased with himself, he couldn't be bothered by the fact he didn't have any angel friends to tell. He simply smiled pleasantly, summoning a book into his hands to settle in for the night, “Yes, dear.”

…


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley really did like snakes. They were fascinating creatures. They lacked the parts of the brain that processed complex emotion. In a way, they were rather more like squiggly pet rocks, no personality per say, just acting on stimulus and instinct. A simple creature. Didn't even bother with legs or nothing. Crowley could respect that. A life like that sounded like a dream in a way, really.

That is how he realized it actually was a dream, when he found himself slithering through the grass on his belly. Looking behind him he could see smooth inky scales absorbing the afternoon light, his body like a small black river cutting through the dirt. Although his belly showed scarlet red.

He liked that.

He curled over himself to change course, his body finding an easy constant shimmy. His head only had to bob back and forth, to and fro, and his body would follow. He had no emails to make, no random people to meet, no city parking, no city traffic, no groceries to worry about. He only had the sun on his back, and his forked tongue to occasionally flick out to taste the air.

Oh yeah, he could get used to this. Why hadn't people thought about just becoming snakes much sooner?

But he recognized this was a dream. So he really should make the most of it.

He though about the merit of trying to eat something as a snake and the potential ick factors associated with it when he spotted a new target over a ridge: a large tree.

_Oh_ , he had to try to climb it.

He slinked toward the tree as fast as his no-legs could take him and looked up through the branches. It would be a stretch as the nearest branches were rather far away, but he was a pretty long snake. He had to try.

He had no idea how snakes went about this in the wild. He eventually managed as pressed his head against the rough bark and began to climb. He pushed with his back, increment by increment propping himself up more, higher and higher. Crowley was thankful that snakes were built with so much muscle. Just as the strain was starting to take a toll, he was close enough to snag his head around the lowest branch.

_Successss!_

Crowley hissed to himself, amused.

It took a few minutes for the rest of him to catch up and coil securely around the branch. His new position gave him a nice view of a budding sunset and the nearly ripe apples that swayed ponderously in the breeze on the branches.

He also noticed how far away the ground seemed now. Oh well. That was a problem for Future Crowley.

He tasted the air again and began to move to press through the thick green green leaves. They tickled and scratched gently against his glossy scales. Pointy twigs did nothing against his smooth dry body. He was free to nose and contort his way however he pleased, so that was exactly what he did. He started to get rather entertained with how many loops and twists he could coil his body into around the branches. It was such a strange sensation, having his flexible spine so twisted, yet so relaxing. Maybe he should become one of those people who does yoga when he awoke...

He was admiring his work making a figure 8 when he felt the first snap.

A part of his torso dropped.

A second branch snapped.

This time his whole body was suddenly and unceremoniously dumped from its perch.

Ah. Future Crowley had arrived much quicker than anticipated.

It was taking longer to fall than Crowley thought. He could feel his body twisting over and over in midair as he plummeted. Damn slow dream gravity. He wondered if the fear of impact or the sense of vertigo from falling would wake him from the dream.

Neither of these would be correct.

He found himself falling snout first, as if something was pulling him by the nose towards the ground. The grass grew closer and closer, he was almost- just as Crowley squinted for the impact, he instead found himself moving _through_ it. It was not smooth like landing in water, but the dirt moved aside for Crowley, letting him fall through the earth, down, down, down.

He couldn't be sure how fast he was traveling, but he felt like he was rocketing through the ground with the way the dirt rubbed abrasively against his face. He couldn't seem to control himself, he was just forcibly propelled along the world's worse slide. He grunted as he jostled against small rocks.

He was so shaken he almost forgot this was a dream. Now that he remembered that fact, he tried very hard to will himself awake, rid himself of this strange uncomfortableness.

But nothing happened, he remained stubbornly present.

After a terrifying moment of feeling like he was suddenly falling much faster than he really should, he found himself tumbling out of the rock and into open air. He immediately gasped in relief, but terror grabbed hold of him anew as the ground once again was rushing towards him, promising pain. He could do nothing for it, not even scream in this form.

He hit the dusty ground with a sickening solid thud.

He couldn't move for several moments, letting the shock reverberate through his being, rattling his skull, his teeth. When he did find the strength to open his eyes again, he realized he had hands, legs, his own body back. He slowly, achingly pushed himself up. He held his head in his hands, groaning.

He appeared to be in a cave of sorts, and alcove under the earth. Although when he looked above him, he could not see the hole he would have fallen through (he could have sworn he saw some rocks on the ceiling squirm into place where the hole should have been though). It was very dark, the only light came vaguely in the distance, a dim angry orange glow. Crowley thought wildly about being inside a volcano. It would have explained not only the sweltering heat but the random vents of air that hissed out of the ground. He quickly realized that the vents released hot air as well as a terrible odor. He cupped a hand over his nose, wincing. It was as if all the worst most rotten fetid things of the known world had been left to stew to create a juice and then that juice was set on fire.

Suddenly one of the vents erupted just a couple feet behind him. The sound spooked him so, he gasped as he tried to move away. This was apparently the worst idea, as his lungs immediately felt like they were burned from the inside out from the noxious smell. His eyes watered.

Crowley wrapped his arms around himself, tugging at fistfuls of his clothes tightly.

“ _Wake up...wake up..._ ”

His head snapped up when he heard a reverberation of a guttural scream in the far distance, seemingly past the walls of the cave. He became aware of a hallway, so oddly straight, etched into the side of the rough wall of the cave. The grimy tiles of the floor stretched out of sight down the passageway. His eyes went wide. Crowley stayed still and waited, and was rewarded several minutes later with another pained scream, along with the sound of a cracking whip, echoing sharply down the hall.

Crowley scrambled to his bare feet and ran.

He hadn't even properly realized he had no shoes until that moment, but at that same moment he could not care less. Sounds of pain and cries and more whips, chains, slapping, cracking, electrical fizzing, dog barking, and then enthusiastic cackling propelled his feet through the dust. (It was actually ash, soft gray ash, he realized in the back of his mind.)

As he rounded the corner, he was met with over a dozen dark shambling beings. Shadows of people, aimlessly wandering. Their white vacant eyes paid Crowley no mind as he skittered past them.

Crowley's heart beat against his ribs, and his breath came out in wheezes.

His stomach fell out the bottom as his foot sank into the ground, and a vent opened right underneath him. Suddenly his whole world became hot pain and stink. He lost all sense as it felt like his body was flayed, very nerve instantly overwhelmed. He tried to choke on the air, but the heat and smell immediately made him only want to wheeze and it started the painful cycle all over again until he felt like he was about to forcibly cough his lungs out.

He managed to collapse away from the vent, falling to his knees, and then flopping on his side. His face was a mess of tears and spit. He was sure the experience had been mere seconds, but it felt like minutes, hours, days, of agony.

_Just a dream...a dream..._

When the pain finally subsided to a mere dull ache and Crowley could open his eyes again, he realized he was near the banks of a river. A small black boat glided smoothly far out in the distance, leaving no ripple nor a wake on the dark water. _Water_.

He almost wanted to cry.

Steeling his strength, he clawed through the dirt towards the water on his belly. Already his fevered dusty skin and parched throat felt better just thinking about the cool liquid salvation.

He pulled himself up to the shore. The surface of the water was so smooth, like black glass. It didn't show the bottom.

His brain kicked in to provide plenty of helpful ideas of how this could go wrong, how it was a trap, a mirage. But he could not bring himself to care.

He bent forward to dip his hand into it.

A pair of bright sulfur yellow eyes stared back up at him from the surface. Slitted pupils narrowed as they focused back at his gaunt face. _His reflection._

“Crowley.” The voice called from far away, at the end of a tunnel. Crowley barely registered it because _his eyes._

_His Eyes!_

“Crowley!”

He didn't even realize he had been screaming until he gasped for breath, shooting up out of bed, heart racing, halfway through kicking his blankets away.

Aziraphale backed away from where he had been bent near Crowley, his own heart hammering and breaking at the panicked look on Crowley's pale face. Before he could say anything else, Crowley had vaulted out of bed and disappeared to his en suite bathroom.

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale padded after him. He watched curiously as Crowley stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, chest heaving. Even from a distance Aziraphale could tell Crowley's eyes were dilated and bloodshot as he looked unblinking into his reflection. Eventually though Crowley seemed to calm down, head hung in his hands. He took a deep shaky breath. His dark undershirt clung to his sweating ribs.

“Are you...alright?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale through his reflection. “'m fine. Jus' a dream. Stupid...” His voice was rough.

Aziraphale thought Crowley looked more along the lines of haunted and deprived. But he was starting to know better now.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” He asked gently.

Crowley pinched at the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, “Uh, no...no not really...”

Aziraphale merely nodded, he expected as much. He folded his hands behind his back, already rocking on his feet as he moved away, “I'll be in the living area if you do need anything...”

“Aziraphale?”

The angel popped back around the corner in an instant, it was hard to keep the hope out of his voice, “Yes?”

“Just now...you didn't...” Crowley swallowed, he squeezed his eyes shut, “You didn't just now _do_ anything, did you? Nothing with your angel-y miracles whats-its?”

Aziraphale's brow creased, startled, “Why no. Why? What did you dream of?”

By that point, Crowley had gained enough wit about himself to school his face back into its normal aloof facade, his mouth barely twitched when he replied, “Nothing. It's fine. Don't worry about it.”

Aziraphale knew he would anyway. However he did agree to give Crowley more space, and it was late, so he let it drop. He returned to the living room to curl up with his book on his conjured chair once more while Crowley returned to sleep.

At least that's what Aziraphale assumed Crowley had done. But it was not more than 20 minutes later when a familiar voice croaked, thick with exhaustion, “Don't you ever sleep?”

Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley standing in the doorway, somehow looking more ragged than before, wearing one of his faux fur blankets around his shoulders like an aging king. His glasses were back on.

“Never found the appeal,” Aziraphale said. “Much too much to do.”

“Can't relate,” Crowley said after considering this for a moment, “Unconsciousness is one of man's greatest allowances for existing.”

“Then why aren't you asleep right now?” Aziraphale asked.

“...What book are you reading?” Crowley stepped closer to the chair, ignoring the question.

“It's a Balzac,” Aziraphale adjusted his reading glasses, “Care to join me?”

“'m not a kid. Don't need reading to. But,” Crowley's shoulders relaxed a fraction, “I might like to sit out here for a while, if you don't mind...”

“Oh, not at all,” Aziraphale said warmly.

Aziraphale's chair found itself miraculously transformed into a couch large enough for two people to sit. After wordlessly staring at the suddenly empty cushion, Crowley plopped himself down on it. He relaxed after a minute, sagging into the black faux furs.

Aziraphale turned the page. All the lights were off except for a lamp. The only sound came from a clock in the apartment that ticked, loud in the dead quiet. It really was peaceful, Aziraphale had almost lost himself when a soft warmth against his shoulder startled him. He jumped slightly and looked over to see Crowley, fully cocooned in his blanket sans his face, had slid sideways down the couch against him.

Crowley grumbled lowly, straightening up, “Sorry...”

“Let me...” Aziraphale simply shifted the book to his knee, angling it more towards Crowley. “I think I also have a Dickens around here someplace if you would prefer...”

Crowley said nothing, but Aziraphale could feel his eyes through the large mirror lenses.

Crowley watched Aziraphale read intently, the low light catching on his blonde curls and the peach fuzz on Aziraphale's face, before croaking out, “I can't remember the last time I sat down to read a book. Never been a particular fan of reading.”

“Can't relate,”Aziraphale parroted, lip curling as he spoke softly, “I've always rather been a bibliophile, ever since books were invented. Marvelous little creations.”

“That's a long time to be a nerd,” Crowley said, voice gravelly.

“I normally attend the heavenly libraries,” Aziraphale ignored Crowley's sleepy lighthearted jab, “But as you can imagine, we don't get many new additions too often. I have a lot to catch up on.”

“You really aren't cut out to be a salesman are you? You're supposed to say things about how Heaven has cool things to impress me still, remember?” Crowley's voice came from the mound of black fluff.

Aziraphale's eyebrow quirked, “Dare I ask what sort of 'cool things' you think Heaven should have?”

The blanket shifted, “I dunno...more motorcycles...fire...television...or atleast some other form of entertainment that isn't outdated libraries run by stuffy nerd angels.”

“I beg your pardon, I'm probably one of the _least_ stuffy angels, if I do say so myself, thank you,” Aziraphale said, lips tight. His blue eyes were bright though.

“My point still stands,” the blanket retorted, “The stuffiness is inherent in the general system, I feel.”

“Be that as is may,” Aziraphale stroked the book crease gently, his manicured hands reverent, “I still love my books. And my library. You know I...why I would rather like to own one someday. On Earth, if I could.”

“That's the dream, is it?” Crowley's pointed nose poked out of the blanket. It didn't take much imagination to picture Aziraphale puttering around his very own library in one of his sweaters, organizing and stocking massive shelves of his collection, surrounded with all the warm mugs and tweed any one could ever want. “Yeah, I reckon I can see that. Suits you. Why don't you?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale waved his hand, dismissive, “I would never get approval to stay on Earth for that long. I was lucky enough to get even this assignment. I'm afraid the higher ups have been rather cross with me ever since the incident in France when I had to miracle myself out of that nonsense with the guillotine. Why I believe the only other time I've been to Earth since then was to procure those books briefly during the Blitz. It's just not practical. So, no. I'm quite tied to my Heavenly position for the time being.”

“Sounds miserable.”

Aziraphale turned and saw his own reflection staring back at him in the glasses settled into the black fuzz of the blanket mound.

“You'd think with all the cosmic power of Heaven, surely an angel could get something they wanted, especially for something as simple as books.”

Aziraphale almost pointed out that it was truly the _freedom_ that was a bit trickier. There needed to be order, consequences, clear and simple. But he shook his head, “It's alright. I have what I want right here, now. And did you get what you want?”

“Just what would that be?”

“A distraction to help you fall asleep.”

The blanket shifted, the glasses and pale nose disappeared into the fluffy abyss. “Hrm. Just about, I think...” came the soft response from somewhere within.

“I'm glad.”

They sat in silence. The clock ticked on, and Aziraphale turned the pages for them as they read. Well, technically, he didn't check to see if Crowley was actually looking at the book. But he left the novel open on his knee for him anyway.

Some time later, the quiet was interrupted by a stuttering snore. Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley with his cheek pressed against the back of the couch, blanket almost shrugged off one shoulder. His face was slack, and a corner of his mouth fell slightly open as he slept.

His glasses were crooked, pressed against his nose in a way that didn't look comfortable and would surely leave a mark by morning.

With a dainty sort of gentleness, Aziraphale plucked the glasses off Crowley's face, folded them up and silently set them aside.

He turned the lights off with a snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: How Many Bullshit References And Symbology Can I Fit Into A 1700 Word Dream Sequence
> 
> hope y'all like this one, i got randomly inspired to write it, and it just kinda tumbled out. didn't have it planned in the plot outline or anything for this story, but i like snek crowley as well as blanket cocoon crowley i think  
> until next sunday! next chapter is kinda short and angsty


	8. Chapter 8

“Whatever are we doing going to Tadfield?”

Crowley swerved, spooking a couple pheasants in the brush of the country lane, in surprise at the sudden voice from the previously unoccupied seat next to him.

“Bloody hell, angel. Give a man a warning if you're going to pop in like that. Cough first or something.”

“Oh, sorry,” Aziraphale said pleasantly, taking in the sunny country view out the windows, “You just left so suddenly and didn't mention why.”

“I told you, I was taking a day to see a...friend.” Crowley's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, leather creaking.

Aziraphale's head swiveled around, “You're visiting a friend? Oh how marvelous, with the way to talked before I didn't think you-”

“It's not quite like that,” Crowley sighed, cutting off Aziraphale's rambling before he snowballed into a bubbling gushing frenzy. “Just something that needed to be done given the...circumstances... Didn't want a big scene about it.”

“Oh...” Aziraphale shrank a little bit, tucking his hands back to himself, “Do you...want me to leave you to it then?”

Crowley's large glasses reflected the trees passively as they blurred by, “Nah...'is alright. You can come if you want to, angel.”

Aziraphale watched carefully for any sign of Crowley being irritated or facetious, but merely found calm resignment in the parts of his face he could see. He gave a little wiggle in his seat, “Splendid.”

Crowley threw the old Austin-Healey into the next gear and hit the road with renewed vigor.

They made it to the village in record time, with Crowley cruising with reckless abandon as he was wont to do the instant he was outside the city. The sleepy streets seemed especially quaint passing by at almost 60 mph. An old man shook his fists at Crowley as they roared past him on the street, scooping up the small dog he was walking protectively as if to shield it from being accosted by even more speeding motorists.

They puttered up a nondescript residential street. It seemed totally normal, with gardens in almost every yard, a handful of children playing, people riding bikes. Aziraphale couldn't help but think that none of it seemed like anything that particularly belonged in Crowley's little modern corporate life. So he was very confused when they parked in front of a house, and Crowley turned off the engine.

“Why did we stop?”

“We're here.” However Crowley didn't make a move to get out.

Instead he looked out the window, to the yard across the street. A man was sitting on the porch smoking a pipe and reading a newspaper. And in the little lawn a young boy was playing with a small black and white dog, running about and laughing.

Crowley gave a little sigh.

“Ah, here?” Aziraphale asked, “What exactly is here?”

“The uh...the kid's the friend of mine...from a while back...” Crowley cleared his throat, looking skittish.

Aziraphale lit up, clasping his hands to his chest, “Oh, I didn't realize you liked children, dear!”

“I don't,” Crowley said flatly.

“However did you two meet?” Aziraphale asked, stretching his neck to peek over Crowley into the yard.

“Used to nanny a couple kids in my previous life. Adam was the last one. Little heathen, but a pretty alright kid.”

He had managed to keep his tone dispassionate, but Aziraphale caught the small fond curve of Crowley's barely-there smile as he watched the boy play.

“You sound like you liked being a nanny,” Aziraphale said it like a statement, a fact, free from the soft emotion that shimmered in his eye.

Crowley shrugged, shifting back in his seat, “It definitely wasn't bad. Don't regret doing it. Though, I do think I prefer my profession before that selling snake oil. I- oh don't look at me like that, I _actually_ sold snake oil. Snakes are very useful and interesting creatures you know. Anyway, point being, I liked the whole traveling salesman bit. I got quite into it, as I'm sure you can imagine.” Crowley rubbed one finger along the serpentine tattoo near his side-burn absently.

Aziraphale's lip lifted into a sad smile, staring at Crowley's profile, “If you were so passionate, why did you stop?”

“Why should I have kept doing it?” Crowley volleyed back easily, not looking at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale threw his hands up, “Why, because it clearly made you happy of course! So, why not?”

Crowley rolled his shoulders, his fingers itched like he wanted nothing but to jet off in his car again, “I don't know...felt like I was getting too old for all the traveling. Too old not to have a real job. Just needed a nice office and people to badger. So that's what I got.”

“It doesn't make you as happy though,” Aziraphale also said this as a fact (free from the sad look clouding his eyes).

Crowley's chest heaved in a sigh. The reflection of his glasses held a small Adam rolling across the grass with his dog chasing eagerly at his heels, “It makes me happy enough.”

They sat in the car quietly for several more minutes, Crowley watching the boy, and Aziraphale watching Crowley. He felt like he was starting to understand his human charge a lot more now.

But of course, as soon as Aziraphale thought this, Crowley did something unpredictable.

Without preamble he started up the car, “Alright. Enough of that then...”

They started to rumble away down the street. Aziraphale blinked rapidly, looking from Crowley to the car to Adam. “You're...you're just _leaving_?”

“Yeah?”

“You drove all this way...and...and...”

“And what?” Crowley asked sharply.

“You're not even going to say hello?”

Crowley breathed through his nose, “No. No I'm not going to say hello.”

Aziraphale sputtered when Crowley failed to elaborate, “Why?”

“Because,” Crowley wrung his hand around the steering wheel, “I nannied Adam when he was very young, I doubt he remembers me very well anyway. Besides, that wasn't really the point.”

“What _was_ the point, if I may ask?” Aziraphale cast one last look in the back window at the small idyllic street.

Crowley was silent for so long, Aziraphale thought he might never get an answer and was just watching the scenery blur by as they picked up speed. That's when Crowley said, almost too soft to be heard over the purr of the engine.

“It was more saying goodbye, than hello.”

Aziraphale's head whipped up, “Goodbye?”

“Well yeah. Guess dying is making me kinda nostalgic. So I wanted to say goodbye.”

Aziraphale sank in his seat and wondered how rude it would be if he teleported straight out of the car.

“I understand...”

“Good.” Crowley turned on the radio. Aziraphale winced at the piercing guitar solo that came on.

They rode in silence. Crowley seemed much more at ease and unconcerned now that they were driving away, he had his window open with his arm resting there in the sun. However Aziraphale sat with his hands knotted in his trousers. The angel's eyes furtively glanced from the radio to Crowley to the view outside.

He had promised. Crowley had made it very clear that he was not willing to change, but was happy (or at the very least tolerant) for Aziraphale's company. Although it went against his Heavenly assignment, if that is what Crowley wanted, he had told Crowley he would respect that. Besides, he was able to stay on Earth with all the earthly delights that came with it, so who was he to complain. It was a win-win, Aziraphale told himself. Really. An easy sort of relationship. He could even pretend they were proper friends almost.

But then again Aziraphale was a worrier. And to say that self-restraint was not a virtue of his would be an understatement.

Overindulgence and love were such similar emotions, equal commandments to be obeyed. And Aziraphale loved all God's creatures, and so he worried for the things he loved, and so he worried for Crowley. And the circle of anxiety started again.

Eventually he couldn't help himself, he burst like an overshook soda.

“Actually, I...I don't understand...”

The corner of Crowley's mouth took a hard downward slant. He switched the radio off.

Aziraphale swallowed, “Short though your time may be, you do still have time. Especially with the treatments available these days, you still have a couple years to enjoy your life. The boy obviously means something to you, I don't understand why you don't at least want some closure before turning away.”

Crowley had turned statuesque, except for his slight breaths and minute adjustments to the steering wheel. Then his hands clenched, knobbly knuckles stretching as he readjusted his grip. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, as one does considering the velocity and angle by which to rip a band-aid off, before wetting his lips and saying simply in the almost silence, “I'm not getting treatment.”

“... _What_?” Aziraphale's squawk was loud enough to almost make Crowley run off the road. He swerved back into the lane and cursed.

“For pity's _sake_ , angel...”

“I'm so sorry, I'm just...I'm... _why_?”

Crowley shrugged, “My decision.”

“Oh, of course. But it's just...” Aziraphale wrung his hands into a frenzy, “But dear that's only going to give you less time. Less time to earn your way into Heaven, you understand?”

Crowley said flatly, staring ahead at the passing road, “My decision.”

“Oh my...” Aziraphale looked faintly out the windshield, eyes round and watery.

Crowley ran a hand through his short hair roughly, groaning, “You know, I think you're generally an alright kinda guy. But I swear angel, sometimes talking to you I feel like I can't do anything but disappoint you. It's exhausting.”

“I'm not disappointed in you, Crowley. I am sad for you...”

Crowley's brow crinkled, grimacing. He shifted his eyes off the road to look over at Aziraphale, and took in the sight of his guardian angel worrying his neat nails with his soft fingers. His head was bowed, looking down into his lap.

Crowley sighed. He tapped his fingers against his armrest.

“Why don't you pick some music, angel?”

Aziraphale pricked up a little at that, head swiveling from Crowley to his precious, nigh sacred, radio, “M-me? You're sure?”

“Yeah...”

Aziraphale's fingers waggled as he thought, “Well, ah, maybe some classical music then?”

Crowley winced as a crescendo of 'Night On Bald Mountain' started to thunder from the speakers.

“Something else maybe?” Crowley suggested faintly as his stomach gave an uncomfortable squirming swoop.

“Right...sorry...”

They eventually compromised on Norman Greenbaum's 'Spirit In The Sky'.

…


	9. Chapter 9

“It is most definitely not.”

“Of course it is!”

“No. You are the only person I can think of in the world who would ever describe the Velvet Underground as ' _bebop_ '.”

“It is!” Aziraphale insisted, steps bouncing to keep up with Crowley longer swaggering gait, “What else would you call it?”

“ _Not_ 'bebop'!” Crowley's voice carried down the hall, not that he gave a toss, “No music has been called 'bebop' in over 50 bleeding years!”

“Close enough...”

“No it isn't! Bebop and the various styles of Rock are all different! If they were the same they wouldn't need different names, would they?”

Crowley's voice had reached a new higher pitch and he was starting to talk fast now and rib Aziraphale more, but Aziraphale had learned by this point that meant that Crowley was having fun. He was happy to see the human get passionate. It animated Crowley in a way Aziraphale never saw otherwise, especially for something good (ie not yelling at his plants...or people).

Crowley pushed the button for the elevator, shaking his head, “I'm going to need to educate you. No wonder Heaven is suffering from stuffiness. By the time I'm done with you, you will be able to spread the good word.”

“The good word of what, exactly?” Aziraphale could barely contain himself. The warm jolly feeling in his belly felt like it was starting to seep out his face.

“Of having Good Taste,” Crowley said crisply, stepping onto the elevator.

Aziraphale followed him. The banter had him almost feeling drunk, feeling light in his head as well as his heart. He had never met another being to have such talks with. He tried to scold himself, this was all business (and a failed business at that). Still, he couldn't bring himself to count moments like these a failure. The truth he had come to was Crowley was lonely and Aziraphale was slowly coming to realize he was too. Finding comfort like this couldn't be all bad, Aziraphale decided. Angels were meant to bring happiness, and he was bringing happiness. Gabriel couldn't lay a finger on him. Not for Crowley's happiness, and not for his own.

He followed Crowley out of the elevator on the top floor with a little skip in his oxford shoes.

“I'm going to check in with my secretary, why don't you go ahead and wait in the office with the coffees.”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale took the warm paper cup from Crowley and continued down the dark hall.

He was still floating on cloud nine as he gently closed the door behind himself. The stench of burnt matches that greeted him burst his bubble instantly. Aziraphale's hand stiffened around the coffee cups, feeling instantly clammy as his blood ran cold.

“There you are. Late again, Crowley...” Hastur turned around in the office chair. His brow furrowed when he found himself faced instead with a wide eyed angel who looked like he wanted nothing more than to absorb into the wall.

“ _You_.” Hastur's eyes burned dark.

“Y-you,” Aziraphale said weakly.

Hastur was upon Aziraphale in a second. He was only a little bit taller than Aziraphale, but somehow the strain Aziraphale had to make to look up at Hastur felt humongous.

“What do you think you're doing here, Angel?”

“I-i would ask you the same question, D-demon,” Aziraphale said shakily, his wits finally managing to toddle back to him.

Hastur's face was hard to read. He tended to emote very little, but he didn't need to. His malice and displeasure rolled off his body almost the same as body odor, no need for shouting or sneering. (He did enjoy a good scowl however.)

“I let you get away with this last time, since we was in front of a human. But now,” He poked Aziraphale's belly, his dirty fingernail pressed into the soft flesh, just to the left of pain, “Gloves are off now, sunshine. Crowley is ours. Has been for a long time. You don't want to be here. Got it?”

“I...” Aziraphale swallowed around his dry tongue. His hands shook uselessly, barely holding onto the coffee cups.

“Yes?” Hastur twisted his nail ever so slightly.

“I...I would like it if you didn't wrinkle this shirt.”

Hastur blinked dumbly, looking like he had been hit over the head with a mallet as Aziraphale scootched past him to set the cups on Crowley's desk.

“Now then,” Aziraphale cleared his throat, brushing off his shirt, his jacket. He faced Hastur again, chin upturned as he looked at him down the end of his nose. Although, he wrung his hands roughly behind his back.

“I have no ideas to the diabolical plans Hell has in store for Anthony J. Crowley, but they end now. Heaven has requested he be given a Guardian Angel. So here I am. And I intend on upholding my duties to their fullest extent. Which includes thwarting and disposing of any demons who may wish to hinder his progress.”

Hastur gave a high-pitched awkward laugh. Aziraphale could smell the acidic stench of carrion on his breath as he threw his head back to cackle.

“Crowley...you're...you think Crowley is going to go to-” Hastur laughed until he shed grimy tears, “And they say Heaven doesn't have a sense of humor...”

Aziraphale huffed, reshuffling his feet, “I beg your pardon, Crowley has made great strides in...well many things. I..I believe it is entirely possible.”

“Moron. We've been the devil on his shoulder for decades, Angel,” Hastur's black eyes shown gleefully, “Wasn't much to do really. Just a little nudge every now and then. Crowley made it easy. Easy to persuade. To tempt.”

“Have you no shame?” Aziraphale said, scathing.

“Just the truth. Thought you lot liked that kind of thing?” Hastur's face contorted in the vague approximation of a rare smile, “Don't you get it? Crowley's a selfish conniving mean little wretch. There is nothing good about him, except maybe how good he is at being bad. He's a bloody conduit of misery, the bastard. To himself and everyone around him. You see, he makes all the people _around_ him miserable as well, opening up _their_ souls to Hell. It's damn near a thing of beauty! You can't make these things up! I'm sure they're going to give him a commendation when he gets to Hell. I know he got me one, an' I barely had to do nothing!”

Aziraphale's skin felt hot as he watched Hastur erupt into a fresh round of cackling. He was starting to feel small again. He fought against it, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Crowley will go to Heaven. I'll... _I'll make sure of it_. You...you...”

“Save your blessed breath,” Hastur snapped, laughter abruptly ended. His black eyes seared Aziraphale, “I'm done having fun with you. Get you and your flabby gut out of of this office and don't come back, you hear? Your Guardian Angel shift is over.”

“N-no.”

The shadows in the room darkened, although the window curtains remained untouched. They seemed to gather around Hastur's feet, the shadows looked so thick they were almost tangible, like tar. “What's that now?”

Aziraphale's heart beat so hard against his corporation's chest, he worried if Hastur could see it. He took a quick steadying breath, willing the words out, “I know for a fact Crowley cares about other people. He can be kind when he wants to be. He...he's got the makings of good. I won't leave.”

“I asked you nice-like, Angel,” Hastur stalked forward until Aziraphale was backed up against the desk, spine bent back over in almost a c shape it as Hastur crowded him, glaring down at him, “You're going to regret ever coming down to Earth at all.”

“I'm sure he does that already, honestly, have you tried being around _me_ for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week? Should earn him a bloody sainthood.”

The demon and angel's heads whipped up at the sound of the voice. Aziraphale's eyes bugged, “Crowley!”

Crowley stood near the door, leaning on his shoulder against one of his bookcases, the usual picture of nonchalance. He had one hand tucked into his pocket, the other held a little plastic spray bottle.

Hastur eyed the bottle suspiciously, “What's that supposed to be?”

“This is a Sainsbury's plant mister, cheapest and most efficient plant mister in the world. Would you like to know what's in it?”

Hastur straightened, taking a couple steps towards Crowley now. Aziraphale moved to the side as soon as he could, watching with eyes wide as saucers. Part of him was very grateful for the save (Heavenly soldier he may be, he never got the hang of confrontations), but he felt nothing but terror for Crowley. He couldn't bear to imagine what a demon was capable of against a human but he figured it would probably involve scrapping _bits_ off the walls later (and oh the paperwork he would have to make about the incident later...)

If Crowley felt any fear though, his glasses hid it as usual. In fact, he almost looked bored as he was loomed down upon.

Hastur watched a drip of water slide slowly down the bottle towards Crowley's fingers, “What's in it then?”

“I'm sure you can guess,” Crowley grinned wide, canines shining, “Holy water. Holiest of Holy water in fact. Blessed by an angel. Thought my Guardian Angel was a bit daft for suggesting keeping some around, but what do ya know? He has his moments I suppose.”

Aziraphale squeaked, and tried to cover it up with a cough.

Hastur's black eyes slid from the angel to Crowley to the bottle. The drip on the side of the bottle ran over Crowley's fingers, “You're lying.”

“Maybe I am,” Crowley said, standing properly with a nudge of his hips. His brown eyes shown over the top of his lenses as he leveled them on Hastur, “And maybe I'm not. Real question here is, do you feel lucky?”

A rumble reverberated from Hastur that sounded much too low and large for a human form to make. His eyes fixed on the bottle again. In a flash his hand raised to gesture to it-

“Don't you dare.”

Hastur and Crowley both jumped a little at Aziraphale's tone. The angel looked and sounded more like a strict private school principal than a principality, but his blue eyes suddenly had a little cold edge that suddenly made Hastur feel nervous enough to hesitate.

Deciding to continue the Clint Eastwood western inspiration he had going, Crowley aimed the spray bottle's nozzle at the ground just near Hastur's feet and fired.

Hastur let out a surprisingly high pitched shriek as he leapt and kicked about as a drop almost splashed on his shoes.

“Evidently not very confident, I see,” Crowley said.

Hastur bore his teeth, too many and too sharp, his chest heaved, “You listen to me Anthony Crowley-”

“Nah, you're going to listen,” Crowley frowned deeply, gesturing with the bottle, “I quit. Effective immediately. For extended medical leave. I never want to see or hear from anyone in this company again, especially _your_ company. Got it?”

Hastur hissed, “ _Crowley_ -”

Crowley spritzed water at his feet again, this time he did not relent. Hastur was left to shuffle about, dodging with a whimper every time as he came within inches of certain actual death. It almost looked like dancing (and better dancing than demons normally could manage at that.)

“Happy to do this all day Hastur.” _Squirt_. “Got an angel, and a water cooler on every floor.” _Spritz_. “Think I got some salt packets left over from lunch the other day around here we could try too if you prefer...” _Splash_.

“You damned bastard, stop it!” Hastur snarled as he twirled.

Crowley threw open the door, “Go away.”

Hastur practically sprinted from the office, a couple last spritzes of water chasing his heels as he fled down the hall.

Crowley slammed the door closed, and promptly turned to fall back against it. He let out a breath as his head knocked against the wood and the spray bottle fell from his limp fingers.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was at his side fussing within seconds, soft pudgy hands poking and straightening his already straight clothes. He spoke so fast and mindlessly, Crowley almost couldn't understand Aziraphale, especially through the brain fog that had started to settle over him in all the excitement. But he did manage to catch: “I can't believe that just happened. A demon...a demon...Oh my good gracious. And you! Crowley! That was so brilliant but so reckless, man! You know I never blessed any kind of water for you, whatever were you thinking!”

Crowley shrugged, letting Aziraphale brush off his lapels, “Hastur didn't know that. So it worked out. I believe the american expression is 'played for suckers'.”

Aziraphale's corporation turned even paler than his hair, “I feel faint.”

“I think I'll join you,” Crowley said.

“Ah, here,” Aziraphale pulled one of Crowley's arms around his shoulders. Together they supported each others unsteady weight.

“Let's be gone from this place, I can still smell the brimstone.”

Crowley nodded, “Let's go to that little cafe around the corner. That always makes you feel better.”

They walked down the hall again, still leaning against each other like a couple drunkards traversing the street at night.

Crowley's secretary had been out of her seat, eyes wide behind her spectacles, looking from the elevator and now to the two wibbly wobbly men.

“Mr. Crowley! Is everything alright? I just saw Mr. Hastur run out and now-”

“Looong story,” Crowley waved her off, stumbling past her desk, “Listen, take a lunch break. In fact, you haven't had a vacation in a long while have you? Why don't you do that. Start as soon as you like. Use up whatever time you have saved up with the company. I can sign off on it when I get back for my things.”

“Th-thank you?” the secretary looked at her boss like he had just grown another head which had begun speaking french. Aziraphale felt quite the same, but managed to school his face to give a cheerful smile to the secretary as they shuffled away, as if watching the two of them fumble about like a four legged creature was the most normal sight in the office.

Crowley simply gave a single wave over his shoulder as they stepped onto the elevator.

They let out a collective breath as soon as the door dinged closed.

“Are you still well?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah...better...” Crowley said gruffly. “Did all that actually just happen?”

“You fending off a demon with tap water? Yes, dear, it did. And I'm very grateful, but please never do anything like that again.”

“Don't need to tell me twice,” Crowley muttered, “Christ, wasn't even sure holy water and salt would work. Worried I was confusing demons with vampires for a second back there...”

After a beat, their eyes met. They fell into weak uneasy laughter, the mild hysterics leaving them feeling boneless but relieved.

“We should best lay low for the rest of the day,” Aziraphale's brow creased, “I'm so sorry about your job.”

Crowley shook his head, “Nah, don't worry about it. I think it's been a long time coming really. Just needed a push. I don't think I'm sorry.” He sounded worn but grounded, sure of himself.

Aziraphale watched the floor levels change, “Er, speaking of which, do you mind me asking what that was all about just now?”

“All about what?”

“Why, you just gave your employee _vacation time_? Since when?”

“Oh,” Crowley adjusted his grip on the angel's shoulder, looking everywhere that wasn't Aziraphale, “Well, she did just witness a grown-ass man run screaming down the hall from a plant mister. I think she earned it.”

Aziraphale bit back a wide smile, cheeks dimpling.

His gaze slid to Crowley's profile intently out of the corner of his eye, “And...that medical leave you mentioned?”

Standing this close, he could feel the tense sigh that left Crowley's bony ribs, “And that... I was just...thinking...”

“Yes?”

“Well, I mean, especially after that little show, I don't think demons sound all that appealing any more...”

Aziraphale knew he would be chastised if he said anything, so he kept any comments to himself. He did however allow himself to give Crowley a squeeze around the middle where he supported him. Crowley did not protest to that.

…


	10. Chapter 10

“But what about the unicorns?”

“I told you dear, they had one run off. The species couldn't be saved.”

“Rubbish,” Crowley burrowed deeper into the couch, turning away from where Aziraphale read. “Not saving the children was abhorrent enough. Not saving unicorns is just mean.”

“Well, you clearly show empathy for fellow man for that one, so I'll count it as a win,” Aziraphale said primly.

Crowley groaned, “I think I've had enough of the bible study for now...give it a rest.”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale closed the Bible he had been reading from. He hadn't expected Crowley to take to scripture like a duck to water per say, but he had to admit Crowley was doing scads better than he imagined. (This was not very hard, as he imagined it all going down like a lead balloon.)

“Still feeling worn down?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mmm,” came the affirmative reply.

“I'll make some tea then.”

He left the living room to bustle about the kitchen. Crowley lay unmoving, draped over the couch. Now that he was out of work, he had taken to his preferred sense of style which apparently looked more like a retired rock star than the usual garish suits Aziraphale had always seen him in. The tight dark jeans made him look even lankier.

“Makes you wonder what God's got planned...” Crowley said mostly to the air.

“What's that?” Aziraphale called back, nearly spilling the kettle.

“First the apple tree nonsense, then suddenly dead unicorns...she's just having a laugh at this point isn't she?”

“Crowley...”

“How do you make sense of it all?” Crowley asked, face half smushed by pillow.

Aziraphale turned the stove on to the proper temperature with a vague wave of his hand, “I don't usually, if I'm honest.”

“Hmph...honest angel...” Crowley ran his hand up his shivering arm. He dug his clammy toes under the cushion at the other end of the couch. “Have you seen my-?”

With a distant snap from the kitchen, his preferred black fuzzy blanket miraculously appeared in a neat folded heap on the arm of the couch by Crowley's head. It was quite warm, as if just taken out of the dryer.

The lines on Crowley's face, worn there from age and frowns, softened as he wrapped it around himself, “Thanks,” he muttered.

Aziraphale only nodded, whistling a bit off key to himself as he set up their mugs.

When he came back Crowley was still spread on the couch with a distant look on his face. The expression had become increasingly standard for him the last few weeks. Aziraphale thought he looked uncharacteristically older and serious. He wasn't sure he entirely liked it, he missed a bit of Crowley's usual spitfire.

“How easy would it be for you to cure me?” Crowley asked as he absently studied his hand, testing the flex of his fingers. He still had a bandage from where they drew blood from his wrist.

“Rather easy, I would say,” Aziraphale said quietly, setting the steaming mugs on the coffee table.

Crowley's eyes slid over to his face, “Cost would be pretty steep though if you did that, wouldn't it?”

“The cost would most likely be my life, so yes,” Aziraphale nodded, eyes far off, “It would go against the Plan.”

“The Plan...” Crowley rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, “I've never been very good at doing what I'm told, you know.”

“I've noticed.”

“Dick,” Crowley retorted, fangless. “You actually think I can do it?”

“You go to Heaven?” Aziraphale sipped deep from his mug, letting the warmth settle into his bones, “I do think so, yes.”

Crowley finally just closed his hand into a fist, bringing it against his chest, “How will I know?”

“Know what?”

“When I'm Good enough?”

Aziraphale looked up. Watery blue eyes met tired brown. Aziraphale sighed, “I have a sneaking suspicion you are already Good, my boy. The trick is getting Heaven to see it.”

…

The thing was Crowley would never be Nice. There just wasn't room in his personal schema about himself to add Nice anywhere in the margins. Nice was incomparable with his code. They were not on speaking terms. Nice didn't even _go_ here.

Kind, however, Crowley could negotiate with. While there was, in his humble opinion, much too much cutesy fluff about in the world, there was also much more Cruelty. And Cruelty he could not ever contend with.

So Kind it was.

Aziraphale was under the impression he already had a good grasp of it, but maybe with a bit of practice...

Well, there never was anything wrong with a bit more kindness in the world.

Crowley's nose crinkled as he looked down at his spider plant.

“Um...”

He could almost feel the plant looking at him judgmentally as his mind worked for something to say. Something _kind_...

“You don't look terrible...”

He could have sworn the plant felt almost as confused by the 'positive' affirmation as he was. He continued anyway, one by one, every day.

“That shade of green looks alright on you I suppose...”

“Ah, a new leaf, not bad...”

“Looking wilted, let's perk you up with some water little one...”

“You know your cousins in the jungle get to be tree size, I'm sure you'll get there one day...”

“I turn my back for one minute and you go and sprout new shoots on me! Well done!”

Crowley was almost certain he felt something inside him grow alongside the plants.

…

“ _I told you, I'm your Guardian Angel, I know everything about you.” Clarence said._

“ _Well you look about like the kinda Angel I'd get...” George Bailey muttered._

“Looking for inspiration there?” Crowley drawled, strolling in from the cold outside wearing an impressive amount of layers, topped off with earmuffs and two scarves.

Aziraphale turned the television down, “Just happened upon the Christmas movies. This one seemed appropriate.”

“I imagine Christmas is a rather touchy subject in Heaven, hmm?” Crowley mused as he sorted through the shopping bags.

“It's gotten a bit complicated especially these last few centuries,” Aziraphale said, “I haven't celebrated much I'll admit.”

“Good. Because I was about to veto any amount of tinsel in my household.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of perhaps lighting some candles?”

Crowley's face was unreadable as he dug around in the bags, “That does sound rather tolerable.”

“Do you have any Christmas traditions?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not really,” Crowley said, setting things away in the kitchen, “Never really celebrated much either. Christmas has historically not been a very happy time of year for me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry...”

“Nah, 's alright,” Crowley said, closing a cabinet crisply, “Can just make our own traditions can't we?”

Aziraphale wriggled at the concept, “I was curious about the Christmas Markets...oh a splendid supper is in order at least...”

“Why am I not surprised you almost immediately got excited about the food?”

“Yule Feasts were very much a thing long before Christ the Lord entered the scene, I can assure you.”

Crowley plopped a paper bag next to Aziraphale on the couch, “Will these do?”

Aziraphale's brow bunched as he peeked in the bag, “Why these are...Crowley you must have bought out half a bakery, where on earth did you get all of these muffins and biscuits and- wait.” Aziraphale suddenly pressed the bag to his chest, which currently felt like it was turning to warm mushy goo. “Crowley. Did you just so happen to get these from that church bake sale?”

“Mayhaps,” Crowley said, infuriatingly noncommittal. Still, Aziraphale's eyes twinkled, the poor cakes and treats were staring to get crushed in his hands as he smothered them further against his fluttering chest.

“Even after you said you wouldn't go to the Christmas Mass...”

“Well I didn't go to Mass, did I? I was busy buying out all their pastries.” Crowley sprawled out on the couch, starting to flip through the channels on the TV.

“It is the thought that counts, as they say...” Aziraphale said picking through samples of homemade fudge.

“I'm sure Christ would be willing to forgive being stood up for rather tasty scones. Season of giving and all.” Crowley's brow crinkled, “Wait. He would forgive for that right? I didn't just dig myself a bigger hole did I?”

“Forgiveness is rather his Thing. Besides,” Aziraphale pushed a biscuit into Crowley's hand, “I believe I can put in a good word for you for this one.”

Crowley relaxed, letting his battered body sink into the couch. He had a companion beside him. The glow of the television was soft, and snow drifted silently outside. It didn't have much competition, but it was turning into one of Crowley's favorite holidays thus far.

“How lucky I am to have a Guardian Angel that can be tempted by nibbles then.”

...

He had managed to find a wig near enough to his natural color, but he still didn't quite trust it just yet, so Crowley wore a hat over it. It made the damn thing itch more though. The prickling summer heat didn't help.

He rubbed at his scalp irritably, his other hand claw like around his walking cane, as he looked up at the little family house again. His insides squirmed, and not the usual way from the chemo.

Aziraphale was not here this time, at least not physically, but Crowley could hear his little encouraging voice in his head any way.

_This was okay. This was supposed to be good for him. They were just people. He could do this._

He had done so well coming all the way to Tadfield. But it seemed the edge of the garden is as far as his nerves were willing to take him. He paced around a couple times on the pavement.

“Pathetic...” he hissed to himself.

He could hear Aziraphale's gently scolding voice at that too, reminding him that kindness to others also extended to himself. He was still working on that.

This was good. And he deserved good.

Crowley rapped the ground with the tip of his cane once and strode pass the gate in a huff, his body a determined slant. He was at the front door of the home before he processed what he was doing.

As he knocked, a little dog yapped at the sound from inside.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short chapter...
> 
> things are probably going to start getting sad here towards the end, as i'm apparently a sadist. so head's up for that, and hope to see you here next sunday as this starts to wrap up :)


	11. Chapter 11

Crowley wasn't getting better.

They both knew this, on an intellectual level. But it was another thing entirely to live through it and watch it, knowing full well what the outcome was. The cancer treatment was only to buy Crowley so much time. And that time was quickly running out.

...

Aziraphale startled awake. He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep. Didn't think he really could. Yet here he was, nodding awake, the book he had been reading was resting against his chest on an open page. His concern for how much that had bent the spine of the book was immediately overwhelmed by the distant terrible feeling of confusion and pain. The feelings were familiar enough that he recognized they weren't actually his. That is to say they were more of a call for help.

He was on his feet moving through the dark apartment in an instant. “Crowley?”

The bedroom was empty. But there was a streak of light coming from the bathroom door. He called out again, and was answered by his own name choked out in a sob.

Aziraphale's gut churned, aching already at the sound. He opened the door anyway.

The treatment made Crowley ill very often, even more than the cancer by itself. So it wasn't uncommon to find Crowley in the bathroom, but this time seemed different. There was mess on the ground and on Crowley's undershirt, like he had missed his mark. Crowley himself was crumpled in a heap, weakly bracing himself against the edge of the tub. He had his forehead pressed against the edge of the cold porcelain.

Perhaps it was the harsh lighting on his pale skin, or just from not being able to eat much of solid food for the last several months, but Crowley looked heart-breakingly skeletal. A shell of himself. Liable to fall apart with the slightest touch. He didn't even seem to have the strength left to lift his head. All he could manage was a weak excuse of 'Ziraphale' on the edge of his wheezes.

In one snap the mess was gone. In two snaps Crowley found himself wrapped in a blanket.

“I'm here. I've got you now.”

Aziraphale lifted him into his arms frighteningly easy, one arm under Crowley's limp legs, the other around Crowley's back. Crowley's head lolled against his shoulder, his bony fingers knotted into the angel's shirt desperately, pulling Aziraphale close.

His words were clumsy and jumbled in his slack mouth, but very determined to get out, “...Don't want to...don't want to die...don't want...”

Ah, Aziraphale's corporation could definitely cry then.

“I know, dear. I know. I'm _so_ sorry.”

He lowered Crowley back in his bed. Crowley did not let go of Aziraphale's shirt, his grip was surprisingly iron clad. However Aziraphale never had any intention of leaving from the spot.

He gathered the bundle of that which was all that remained of his one real friend and held it against him, tucking Crowley's bare head under his chin. He ran a hand over Crowley's shivering back, willing as much warmth and peace into the touch as he could.

“Sleep now, and dream of whatever you like best...”

Crowley's tearful whimpers quieted almost immediately.

...

Death did not discriminate. They moved between each and every door of the hospital in equal measure. They walked slowly down the sterile halls, methodical, practiced, and casual. Death had no need to rush. They always got what he wanted in the end.

They passed children's rooms, their bootfalls silent and unseen above the din of televisions or games or sleep inside. They occasionally glanced over to check a name or a room number as they made their rounds. Eventually though they did stop. Their long pale finger extended from the end of their sleeve to gently trace along the name plaque on the door.

THERE.

With a smooth gesture of their hand, the door opened before them. Their dark coat tails flared behind them like a shadow as they slipped inside.

Death found an elderly gentleman in a bed asleep. His weak heart-rate beeped through a machine. It would not be doing that for very long.

IT IS TIME.

They raised a hand towards the man's face, his breath-

“Ah, pardon me?”

If Death had eyeballs, they would have gone very wide at the intrusion.

Death turned on their heels toward the voice and was confronted by a stout angel watching them nervously, hands knotted over his belly.

“I'm sorry, is this a bad time? It's rather important...”

SPEAK QUICKLY, PRINCIPALITY.

Aziraphale jumped a little at the sound of the voice, “Oh, er, yes, thank you. Actually I am on assignment as a Guardian Angel. Which is actually why I needed to speak with you, as it were.”

Death cocked their head, THIS IS HIGHLY IRREGULAR.

“It's very important,” Aziraphale insisted, finding his nerve, his hands clenched. “The human I am guiding, Anthony Crowley...He's close now, I think. I...I'm not entirely sure of his fate, but he has made such progress in the time we've been together and...well we can only hope it's been enough I suppose...” he said with a wave of his hand.

YOUR POINT? Death said flatly, looking tall and straight and black.

Aziraphale shook his head, “He's weak, in pain, he can't help himself anymore...still he has yet to die...It just feels like its dragging on by this point.”

A sigh rattled somewhere from within Death's cloak, cold and tired sounding, I HAVE LIVED BEYOND AND THROUGH EVERY HUMAN CATASTROPHE SINCE BEFORE THE BEGINNING. I HAVE SEEN EVERY WONDERFUL AND TERRIBLE ACT THEY HAVE DONE TO ONE ANOTHER, AND MET THEM AT THE END OF EVERY BETRAYAL AND TRAGEDY, EVERY PLAGUE, EVERY FAMINE, EVERY WAR. I HAVE NO TEARS TO CRY FOR THE FATE OF YOUR SINGULAR CHARGE, GUARDIAN.

“Please, I know but...he's suffering...” Aziraphale pleaded, tears gathering anew making his voice stick, “He can do nothing but wait in agony. I don't understand...I needed to ask you why. I don't see how Heaven can be so cruel...”

THERE IS NO KINDNESS OR CRUELTY IN MY WORK. THERE IS ONLY WHAT IS AND IS NOT.

“Oh...” Aziraphale looked dazed and possibly ill. He was starting to question his wisdom for coming here at all. He had meant to find help for Crowley, release his burden, but he only seemed capable of giving himself a headache.

Then Death crossed their arms, and made a intrigued sounding sort of hum.

BUT, ER, WHAT THERE IS NOT IS YOUR HUMAN'S NAME.

Aziraphale blinked, “What?”

Death's pale pointed fingers tapped against his bicep. HIS NAME IS NOT ON MY LIST. I AM NOT DUE TO COLLECT THE SOUL OF AN ANTHONY CROWLEY ANY TIME SOON.

“His-What does that mean? You're sure?” A surviving tear still stuck to Aziraphale's lash, but surprise had instantly dried the rest. He looked up at the tall figure of Death now, agape and alert as if he was just mentally doused in ice water.

MY ORDERS ARE FINAL AND ABSOLUTE. THERE ARE NO MISTAKES.

“That can't be...my assignment...” Aziraphale felt like his insides had been scooped out clean, all the furniture in his life rearranged 6 inches to the left, so wrong, “Crowley was supposed to be dying...that was the whole point of my being here...”

THIS MATTERS TO ME NOT. Death shook their head, already starting to turn away. NOW, THERE IS A COST TO PAY FOR DELAYING DEATH, ANGEL. I BELIEVE WE BOTH HAVE IMPORTANT MATTERS TO ATTEND TO.

Death watched from their dark eye sockets as Aziraphale bobbed his head, nodding vigorously, mostly to himself, “Yes. Yes, yes quite so...quite so.”

Aziraphale's thoughts were reaching unheard of speeds as he processed this new unprecedented information, but he did have the presence of mind to offer a “Oh, and thank you for your time” before snapping his fingers to send himself away.

Death barely raised one bony hand, DON'T MENTION IT.

Death turned back to the gentleman and the bed and resumed their duty. When they left not 2 minutes later, the room had gone quiet. Death continued their rounds down the hall humming to themselves.

…

“This makes no sense. It's unheard of, Crowley.”

Crowley, dutifully, was taking part in one of the few sacred and important activities still available to a man in his condition: sleeping. He was becoming a master at it, and lately tended to do it for upwards of 12 hours a day.

Aziraphale paced around the reposed figure on the couch, walking from room to room talking out loud. He would occasionally pick something up only to put it down again somewhere else, just to have something to do with his hands. None of it however made the situation make any less impossible.

“Death surely can not be in the wrong. But that would mean Heaven was wrong and, oh, perish the thought. But what else it there? What does this mean!”

Crowley simply turned slightly in his sleep. Aziraphale wore another tread into the rug.

“Even if Death _was_ wrong, well, he rather has the final word, doesn't he. Even when he's wrong he's right. Not much I can do about that. Should I let Heaven know? Do they already know? What am I meant to do with all of this?”

Aziraphale collapsed exasperatedly on the couch, hands slapping against his knees. He sighed hotly, “Either way I think it is quite above my pay grade if I'm being honest. Definitely not cut out to be a Guardian Angel. It's not good for the psyche at all.”

Crowley answered with a quiet snore. Aziraphale watched the sleeping man in the seat next to him. His lip pursed. Crowley looked so peaceful, no hint of the pain or discomfort that filled his waking hours touched his features. Although he did seem to be frowning, his brow crinkled above his nose, as if concentrating very hard on whatever dream he was having. Aziraphale petted his hand, feather-light, across Crowley's forehead, smoothing out the little wrinkles there.

“In any case, I suppose this means you are not to die so soon after all, my boy. I hope so anyway. I can't be upset about that at least, that's for sure.”

He wasn't sure what the game was here, or why he and Crowley had to get caught up in it. But he trusted there must be a plan, a reason for all this confusion. Although he really think he ought to know just what it was.

Crowley twitched in his sleep. Aziraphale bit his lip.

“Maybe a trip to Heaven is in order...”

He wasn't looking forward to going back so soon, nor explaining all this to someone like Gabriel. It seemed increasingly unavoidable however. Not only for the sake of fulfilling his assignment, but also his promise to Crowley to help him as best as he could. He wanted to know that the human, his friend, would be okay.

He nodded to himself, as if psyching himself up, gaining conviction. It started to roil in his gut. “Yes...yes that'll have to do...”

He would do it. He would march straight to Heaven and demand an explanation. Yes! He wouldn't even bother knocking on Gabriel's little office door, no, he would just barge in there! Give that angel a piece of his mind. That would show him for sending The Guardian Of The Eastern Gate on a wild goose chase to Earth, messing with human lives all wily nily. Unprofessional. Yes. That was a good word to use. The whole thing was _unprofessional_.

“It's settled,” he snapped his bow-tie into place, turning on his heel, “Crowley, I will return momentarily. I apparently have to give some archangels a stern talking to. Yes sir. Why I'll-”

Aziraphale was promptly cut off by the sound of a small whoosh above his head. Looking up, a large stark white feather floated lazily down from the ceiling towards him. He watched it tip to and fro through the air, breath caught in his throat, until it peacefully came to rest in his meekly outstretched hand. The air shimmered around the feather at the touch, transforming into a blindingly white letter. His name was written on the front in a scrawl of gold ink.

He opened the letter with trembling hands. His imagination already supplied a good idea of what awaited him inside. And his dread was proven well founded.

_To the Principality Aziraphale,_

_You are to be instantly summoned for a meeting regarding your questionable movements and judgment while on assignment on Earth. The attached array will bring you to Heaven's Chambers. Please prepare yourself so as not to cause damage on reentry._

_Kindest Regards_

He recognized the purple ink and the loopy signature at the bottom as Gabriel's. But below that, a complicated mark made up of a circle with several symbols and markings began to glow white hot as he looked at it, smoking on the paper. Aziraphale could already feel himself being pulled away, his tether to Earth snapping back like a bungee cord.

“Oh, fuck.”

One moment he was standing there holding the piece of paper, the next there was nothing but a snap and a flash of white that went by so fast it felt questionable it even happened. The letter smoldered into flames, burned out of existence before it even hit the ground.

The clock ticked on in the kitchen. Crowley's arm fell over the edge of the couch as he snored.

…


	12. Chapter 12

“Very unprofessional.”

“Absolutely! Completely!”

“Very out of line, to say the least.”

“Could have been catastrophic!” Gabriel cried out, continuing his new favorite game of loudly pointing out of all the possible ways Aziraphale could have ruined all of everything ever. Aziraphale merely stood and nodded vaguely, only half hearing him and Michael as they went on. They had already been going at him for a while, now they were starting to retread on all the synonyms for terrible and incompetent to call Aziraphale. It was starting to become white noise. It faded with all the other heavenly white surroundings.

“You understand the risk of interfering with Death,” Michael said sternly, “They are a powerful figure, and any kind of consequence from stopping their duties would be severe. I see no excuse for your actions. What say you?”

“No excuses!” Gabriel reiterated with a harsh finger point.

“It's as I've been trying to explain,” Aziraphale said wearily, “I was not trying to stop Death, I was looking for information on my assignment. My charge had not yet died. I was hoping to learn how long he was to suffer this for. But then-”

“You should have gotten all the information in his case file, you had no need to go to Death,” Michael shook her head dismissively.

“The very case file that I gave you! Personally! Myself!” Again Gabriel drove home his point with lots of hand waving and finger pointing.

Maybe it was from being on Earth for too long, or just being in the company of one Anthony Crowley, but Aziraphale found himself starting to think of very... _strong_ things he wanted to say to the likes of the archangels. The little bits he rehearsed right before he was summoned were still fresh on his mind.

Aziraphale shifted his feet, nearly crushing his wrist behind his back as he spoke quietly, “Ah, pardon, but you didn't actually give me anything like that...”

“What are you babbling about now?” Gabriel drawled, looking down his nose at Aziraphale. Before that would have been enough to make Aziraphale clam up, dutifully bowing out of the way to obediently and quietly go back to his books. However now it just made him, to put it bluntly, start to grow a pair.

Aziraphale swallowed, “You-you didn't actually give me the case file. I believe you filed it away immediately. I never got a copy for reference. Should I have?”

“Would this be true?” Michael turned to Gabriel, one elegant eyebrow raised.

For the first time in his existence Gabriel actually looked like he might have been rendered speechless. It was the first minor contradiction he had ever faced, it was a strong shock to the system, naturally. He recovered quickly however, and with a vengeance, clearing his throat and rounding on Aziraphale once again.

“I let you see the file! And I gave you instructions orally! There is no reason this should have been so hard.”

Aziraphale thought of the human who warded off a demon with tap water, talking fire until his demented boss Hastur was out of the office. He sucked a hot breath through his nose.

“Then please explain to me why Anthony Crowley continues to suffer. Why has he not been put to death yet? The timeline I was given has run out. Well?” Aziraphale gave a little expectant head tilt, it's innocence was undercut by the ice that had hardened in his eyes as he looked at Gabriel.

Gabriel glared right back, “You dare to suggest I-”

“I do.” Aziraphale said simply.

In a room of just the two of them, there may have been some smiting at this point. However Michael's presence was just enough of a deterrent for this. She was starting to look curiously between the two, almost bemused. Or...at least she showed as much amusement as an angel of Heaven could muster at a moments notice, which was not much comparatively.

Before Gabriel could retort, she cut him off, “Retrieve the case file. That will settle this matter the quickest.”

Gabriel shot a look to both Aziraphale and Michael before snapping his fingers, summoning the form into his hand. He opened the manila folder with stiff jerky movements, still glaring daggers at Aziraphale. He held the folder up to Aziraphale's face, the paper pinched between two fingers.

“Read it and weep, I believe is the proper colloquialism,” Gabriel said smugly.

It was indeed Crowley's name, and Crowley's picture that waved in front of Aziraphale's face. However looking at the fine print...

Aziraphale whisked his little golden reading glasses on from his breast pocket and squinted as he read. “I thought you mentioned that Mr. Crowley was to perish 2 to 3 years from the date of my assignment?”

Gabriel's lip curled into a slick self satisfied smile, “Yes, as I mentioned he-”

“This form states 20 to 30 years.”

“ _What_.”

If Gabriel had been occupying a body, he most certainly would have snapped something with how fast he whipped the folder around, how big his eyes popped. He furiously scanned over it, speechless. After a twitchy pause, Michael plucked the paperwork from Gabriel's grip, looking over over the file herself calmly.

“Ah, yes, the principality is correct. What an embarrassingly simple snafu.” Michael closed the file tucking it under her arm as she started to turn away. Gabriel was still staring mutely from his hands, to Michael, to Aziraphale.

“Let's meet in your office, Gabriel. Why don't we discuss your filing system, shall we?”

Gabriel mumbled something incoherent that was apparently affirmative. He stiffly began to shuffle back, retreating down the white halls. He looked over his shoulder once at Aziraphale, thunderstruck.

Aziraphale repressed the urge to waggle his fingers in a little wave. He felt that might have been pushing it. Instead he focused on committing the poor look on Gabriel's face to memory for safekeeping.

“As for you,” Michael started, still looking just as stern as before. “Your misstep with Death can not be ignored.”

Aziraphale swallowed, voice much more quiet now that Gabriel was gone, “If I may be so bold, I maintain that my actions were a tad extreme but necessary. Without them, this error would not have been discovered.”

“Principality.” Michael's voice resonated strangely, too large for her visible form, “Please understand and take heed. Heaven does not make mistakes.”

“But just-”

“No.” Michael's form shimmered around the edges, threatening to break form. “You saw nothing. Nothing happened. There was no error, because Heaven does not make errors. This was always meant to be. Am I clear?”

And just like that once again Aziraphale felt small. A little squeaky insignificant wheel in a great machine. However despite everything he still believed in the machine. He had to.

He bowed his head, “Yes.”

Michael returned the bow, and started to walk away, “Good. You are dismissed.”

Aziraphale blinked, “Is that all?”

“Oh. I meant you are dismissed to your Heavenly office,” Michael waved her hand over her shoulder, “Obviously your Guardian assignment is no longer required. Consider it complete ahead of schedule.”

“You-but-I-”

“Whatever is the matter now?” Michael sighed facing him again.

“Am I not allowed to go to Earth and tie up loose ends?” Aziraphale asked quickly, voice peaking, “My charge will be...concerned I might expect, if I suddenly disappear.”

“Your charge? You mean the human?” Michael looked at Aziraphale like he just suggested something ridiculous like walking into hellfire, “No, absolutely not. In fact, as punishment for interfering with Death, you are hereby forbidden from returning to Earth for one century, starting now.”

“A whole century?” Aziraphale's face turned a shade that could have blended into the walls.

“Yes, I believe that is what I said.” Michael casually walked off, certainly to give Gabriel his own comeuppance. “You can send your reports to me when you complete them. Blessed be.”

She let the heavy door to the chambers fall closed. It rang hollow in the hall, as empty as Aziraphale felt inside.

…

The glossy face of the phone gleamed dark on the kitchen table. Deceptively innocent, to Crowley's thinking, considering the conversation he just had on it. It had already nearly been 20 minutes and he hadn't moved much. He was having quite the time digesting the news. He turned the phone over and reached for his mug to try digesting his coffee instead.

He hadn't heard from Aziraphale since he had awoken. Crowley trusted the angel enough to know he wouldn't have gone far. But considering the news he just got, he was starting to have some dark thoughts. Still he didn't have the energy to work himself into a panic. And if Aziraphale _did_ get into the trouble that he was thinking he may have, well Crowley certainly couldn't be of any help.

He took another stronger sip.

Despite everything, he felt strangely at peace with things. It felt like nothing else existed outside his apartment, even this room. Nothing except his coffee, his comfy pajamas, this table, and the early morning sunlight filtering in the little window above the sink.

Little dust particles caught in the light, oddly cozy. Crowley watched them until his vision went out of focus. As he stared into the soft sunlight however he realized more than just the dust was shimmering. He could suddenly make out a face, a coat, a bow tie, coming into view. Like an afterimage in his zoned out eyes, soft and fleeting as the dust.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed.

“Ah, good so it did work. Thank goodness.” The ghostly image of Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief. “You'll have to excuse me, I couldn't think of another option for this. I know it's not quite ideal.”

“Wha- wait, what 'appened to you. How'd you get yourself all...” Crowley made a wriggly gesture with his fingers, “...See-through?”

“Oh, Crowley, it is an absolute debacle.” Aziraphale slumped forward, elbows slightly clipping through the table as he leaned on it dejectedly, “I'm afraid there's been a very silly mistake with your case. It's terrible. Well, not terrible at all really, just confusing, and ever so maddening but what else is new. Ah, all that is to say, that my boy it would seem you are not due to expire so soon after all. Not for several more years in fact.”

“Oh.” Crowley stared, oddly calm, “Yes, I...I figured that...”

“Wait, you did?” Aziraphale looked at Crowley curiously.

Crowley's lip quirked, “Yeah. Just got a call from the doctor's office. I've officially been in remission for 2 weeks now.”

Aziraphale looked especially beaming with the sunlight making a halo through his face, “Oh dear that's wonderful news. I am very glad for you.”

“Yeah...yeah...” Crowley looked down at the table, his hands shuffling about lamely. He still didn't really know what to do with himself, after having so much given then taken away then given again. It made him want another nap, truth be told.

Crowley suddenly lifted his head up again, squinting, “Wait, that doesn't explain what all happened to you.”

“Oh, ah, well...” Aziraphale suddenly looked sheepish. “I may have gone to some extremes to get information on your case when you did not die...”

Crowley's thin eyebrows lifted clear up his forehead toward his wig, “Never known you to be a rule-breaker.”

Aziraphale huffed, “I had orders to help you, those were the rules I tried to follow. Very diligently and mostly successfully, might I add. Oh, but none of it seems to matter. It didn't help Heaven is also sore about the whole filing error. I've been punished quite sternly I would say.”

“Your punishment is getting the ghost treatment?” Crowley frowned, squinting trying to see Aziraphale better.

“No, I'm...” Aziraphale's voice went soft, he fiddled with his hands in his lap, “My punishment is I am not allowed to return to Earth for a century. I thought returning without a body this once would be my only chance.”

Crowley's bubble of peace inside him popped as his stomach plummeted. “A century, but obviously that's-”

Aziraphale nodded sadly, “Yes, dear. I'm afraid this is goodbye. For now, any way.”

“For now...” Crowley echoed. Suddenly his sense of peace didn't seem like much without a big reason for it not in his life.

He jolted when he saw faint impressions of Aziraphale's precious fingers suddenly reach towards his. The angel was looking at him kindly, steadily. “You're a good man, Crowley. I truly do believe we will see each other again.”

Crowley could only nod, eyes wide.

Aziraphale pulled back, tucking against himself sadly. “I must apologize. This is all so terribly confusing for me, I can't imagine how it must be for you. I'm still struggling to understand why it had to happen like this-”

“I think I'm starting to.”

Aziraphale stared. Crowley stared back. His brown eyes were hard and steady. He had not worn his glasses around the apartment for months.

“I'm not mad or 'nything like that. I don't regret what happened,” Crowley said, “I promise.”

Aziraphale brought his hands against his chest and nodded, “Until next time then?”

The corner of Crowley's mouth pulled into a small smirk, “Yeah. I'll be seeing you, angel. Stay out of trouble.”

“Only if you will, my dear.”

Aziraphale's form lingered for only a moment, wordlessly taking in Crowley's face. They might have had more words to say, but nothing seemed like either enough nor important at the time. But hopefully they would have all the time for that later anyway.

Crowley blinked and Aziraphale was gone. Only dust sparkled in the sunlight now. He might have heard the sound of wings.

...


	13. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And remember the truth that once was spoken: to love another person is to see the face of God...”-Les Miserables, Finale

Aziraphale was waiting. This was not new. But he had gotten quite good at it as of late.

He had resisted at first, merely casually and completely coincidentally reading nearby when they let the next round of souls through the gates. Just happenstance. Simply taking advantage of the better lighting. You know how it is.

Michael caught him at least once passing by the gates. He thought she might have seen through him, but she merely raised a delicate eyebrow at him and went on her way. He couldn't be bothered to think on it much more than that. He had long ago accepted that they simply did not Understand.

They did not know Earth like he did. They did not know _humans_ like he did.

Especially not humans like Crowley.

Aziraphale read, and waited. And waited.

He was not one to get impatient, he was perfectly content to sit with his thoughts until he grew moss, but he was starting to get antsy. Saint Peter had started dropping rather unsubtle hints, and Aziraphale was properly restless now. What started off as little glances stolen from over the cover of his novels and paperwork, turned into outright looking. Now he had abandoned all materials and just stared, scanning the crowds of souls as they entered for a familiar face, day after day. His fingers twisted into anxious knots behind his back.

He offered a little smile and nod here and there to the souls that passed. He tried not to let on how years of watching and hearing the tearful reunions happening around him affected him. On days like today, he barely had the heart to grin.

A glimpse of a mane of red red hair brought him to a dead stop. Of course there had been times before he could have sworn he had seen that hair, the glasses, heard the voice, only for it to turn out to be false hope. But no, this time was real. He knew it. Could feel it vibrating inside himself like a tuning fork.

He lost sight of the bright hair in the crowd, and immediately scrambled forward to find it again. He apologized distractedly as he waded through, gently pushing past. The vibrations inside him grew louder, intense.

He stood at the spot he had seen the hair, the oh so familiar hair.

There was nothing.

No one for him.

The crowds had passed. Aziraphale looked around, seeing all the happy embraces as souls reunited beyond the pearly gates. His face fell. He cursed the leaden feeling in his chest. He had no right to it, and no one to blame but himself.

“Silly me...” He brushed his hands off, and turned to go wait in his office again for tomorrow to do the whole thing over again.

“Aziraphale?”

The voice came from just ahead of him. Aziraphale stiffened. He slowly lifted his gaze.

“Oh.”

The light of Heaven was so bright and pure it made Crowley's wide brown eyes shine pure gold.

It happened quickly after that, Aziraphale wasn't sure who moved first. But he was certain that Crowley had his arms looped around him. And after his mind was able to catch up, he returned the favor, crushing Crowley against him.

“ _Oh_.”

“Was startin' to wonder if I had just made you up...been so long...” Crowley's drawling voice was muffled against Aziraphale's round shoulder.

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath, barely a laugh. His hands ran up Crowley's knobbly back, fingers finding his hair. His hair. Aziraphale realized it was the first time in a while he had seen his natural hair, and it was much longer than Aziraphale remembered it in life. It fell past Crowley's shoulders in red lush waves.

When they finally pulled away, Aziraphale thought he noticed less wrinkles on Crowley too. Though still forever lanky and angular, Crowley seemed fuller, healthier, vibrant. Golden eyes shone like polished coins.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's forearms dearly, “Oh my, you look radiant.”

“You look,” Crowley's face crinkled, eyes scanning the angel up and down, “Well I can't say the same really. Jeez what did they do to you? You look even stuffier than I remember and I didn't think it was possible...” Crowley picked at Aziraphale's plain white bow-tie, the plain cream lapels of his coat.

Aziraphale shrugged sheepishly, “Stricter dress code up here, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Crowley took in his own plain vanilla colored simple shirt and dove gray trousers. “You weren't exaggerating the corporate hellscape. It should be sacrilegious to deny you tartan.”

“Can I get you to say that at my next performance review meeting?”

“Oh, you really conned me into coming up here, you know that?” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a ghost of a migraine coming on at the mention of ethereal performance reviews. Corporate Hellscape indeed.

Aziraphale tutted, “Don't get so negative so quickly, you are here forever now you know.”

“You sure you're not a demon?”

“Quite,” Aziraphale said brightly. He couldn't stop smiling. “And neither are you, I'm very proud to see.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley brushed him off, folding his arms, “Wasn' that hard, you know. They let just about anybody in here these days.”

Crowley's gaze wandered, taking in the crowds that had started to move on, the white halls leading them forward. And just behind them, the sterile while tiles ended into a sheer drop-off, spilling into a void of stars, cosmic blackness as far as creation.

His bright eyes reflected the small pinpricks of light as he looked down, “So this is it...this is Heaven?”

Aziraphale had been watching him warmly. At the question though, the angel shrank back, bowing his head.

“If there's anyone that you wish to find, I don't mind if you-”

“No.”

Aziraphale cocked his head, “There's no one you want to see?”

Crowley shook his head, “Don't think any of my usual company would be found around here. Besides I think one angel is more than enough of a handful for me.”

“Oh...oh!” Aziraphale pricked up, positively beaming, much to Crowley's chagrin.

“This will be wonderful. I can't wait to show you around! I can show you the library first. Or maybe my office. Oh, you will probably want to settle into your own quarters soon, of course. In which case maybe we should-”

“Angel.”

“Y-yes?”

“Tell me this,” Crowley said wryly, “I'm guessing that it all is quite lovely, impressive, and 68 degrees fahrenheit as promised. I also suspect that it looks the exact same as the very hall I am standing in right now. Same shade of eggshell white and all.”

“You wouldn't be wrong, no,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley tsked, shaking his head as he circled around Aziraphale. Aziraphale recognized the familiar dance of when a tricky thought was winding Crowley up. A good rant was sure to follow, or a stubborn ridiculous idea that only an equally ridiculous human could ever come up with.

Aziraphale found it exciting.

“See, that doesn't quite sit right with me.”

“Doesn't it?”

“No,” Crowley said smartly. “I just spent much too much time on Earth sitting around being bored. I didn't go through all that to spend eternity the same way. I want a proper reward for my troubles. Pain and Suffering compensation, you know?”

Aziraphale's fingers flittered and his chest felt tight with a bit of anxiety, “What are you saying, exactly?”

Crowley stopped and turned to look him in the eye, “Why don't we get away? Somewhere actually interesting. Just the two of us? Have a couple decades to catch up on, don't we?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gave him a scandalized look, clutching his chest while he tutted, “ _You_ are naughty. You've been here all of five minutes and you're already talking mischief. You know I'm still not supposed to go to Earth for several more years yet.”

“Now, I take offense to that,” Crowley said haughtily, golden eyes shimmering as he prowled around Aziraphale again, suddenly appearing over his other shoulder, “I never said we had to go to _Earth_ per say. Just...maybe in the same general universe? Nothing against that is there?”

“Still, we would be breaking the _spirit_ of the law, if not the _specifics_ of said direct order...” Aziraphale pointed out.

Crowley rolled his shoulders dismissively, “Ehhh, I say anything worth doing wasn't not worth the trouble for doing it.”

“ _Crowley_.” Aziraphale fixed him with a stern look, mouth in a hard line, “Now, I know I did not just hear a brand new angel suggest we flit about outside of Heaven despite direct orders to do no such thing. ”

Crowley faltered, brow crumpling, “Umm...”

“Because...” Aziraphale's blue eyes shone like fire now, his grin was almost manic, “If you went off, then I would certainly have to chase after you to catch you. And I'd have to leave Heaven though I'm not allowed to do that. But I would simply have to...if you ran off away from Heaven, that is.”

“Oh, how I missed you,” Crowley said breathlessly, awed.

“I missed you too, my dear. So much...” Aziraphale brushed a coppery curl from Crowley's face, so gentle. Crowley's hand came to rest atop of his, holding it there as he pressed against it. Aziraphale melted, “Where did you have in mind?”

Crowley hummed as he thought, sleepily forcing his eyes open, almost as if drunk, to look out into the blank void beyond the clean white floors, “Not too far. Andromeda, maybe? Or even Alpha Centuri? Must be lovely this time of year.”

“Would make for a nice picnic,” Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley's fingers tightened around Aziraphale's, “Can we, really?”

“You said it yourself, just might be worth the trouble.”

It was the first time Crowley felt he could truly breathe. His chest, his heart, filling so full it was dizzying. He could have sworn he could have drifted off right there, and become part of the sky, the clouds.

The only thing that weighed him down anymore was the warm hand holding on to his.

“Do you need to make arrangements with your other angels before you jet off?”

Aziraphale took hold around Crowley's middle with one strong arm, hands still intertwined, “No I think it will be more fun this way.”

With one massive feathery flap of his wings he catapulted them both into the expansive void of sky.

What exactly they got up to after that, it was ineffable.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there it is! I had a lot of fun with this prompt, and i'm glad everyone seems to like it. :)  
> Thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you rainydaydecaf for putting this idea out into the ether on tumblr, I've had a lot of fun running with it and I hope you like it! :)  
> I'll try to update this once a week  
> Until then, enjoy


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